Delay of Game (The Baltimore Banners Book 6) (3 page)

And that's why she was here—to find out why Justin was sitting beside her instead of being on the ice at the arena. She shifted on the stool and nudged his jean-clad leg with her own to get his attention. Why had she never noticed how deep a brown his eyes were before? A woman could get lost in eyes like his.

Val blinked and cleared her throat, forced another smile. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else right now? Like, oh, I don't know. Up there maybe?" She pointed at the television, expecting Justin to make a funny comeback. But instead he just looked at her, his eyes full of shadows, and shook his head.

"Nope. Not me." His gaze held hers for two full seconds before dropping back to the glass in his hand. She watched as he spun the glass in half-circles on the bar, back and forth, back and forth.

Yeah, something was definitely wrong. Val reached out and closed her hand around his arm, felt the muscles in his forearm bunch and tense under her palm.

"Justin, what happened? Why aren't you playing tonight?"

"Because I'm a fuck-up."

Val dropped her hand and sat back, not even trying to hide her surprise. Not at the language. No, she'd definitely heard worse, growing up with Randy. She was even guilty of saying worse herself.

What surprised her was the overwhelming despair she heard in his voice. She more than heard it—she could actually feel it, rolling off him in suffocating waves so strong they threatened to pull her under, too.

"Sorry. See? I can't even watch my language in public."

"Justin, what's going on?"

"I told you, I'm a fu—I'm a screw-up." He gave her a smile, one so forced and brittle that she nearly cringed. She narrowed her eyes and watched him, torn between pulling him into her arms and hugging him…or straight out smacking him upside the head, which is what she would do if he was her brother.

But he wasn't her brother. Far from it. And she couldn't do either, not here at the bar, not without giving everyone in the place something to talk about. Something like that would definitely get back to Randy. Yes, she could handle her brother. But watching Justin, seeing how lost he looked, Val didn't want anything else thrown at him that would make things worse.

She slid off the stool, grabbing the edge of the bar for balance when her heel slid against the polished floor and nearly sent her falling. If Justin noticed the near mishap, he didn't say anything. In fact, he was back to staring into that stupid glass, like the entire world around him didn't even exist.

Val snagged his wrist in her hand, her grip firm, and pulled. "Come with me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Come with me." She tugged harder, pulling him from the stool. It was like pulling a one-ton sack of concrete, all solid deadweight that didn't want to me moved. She frowned at him, shooting him the death glare that she used on her brother.

Justin gave her an odd look and finally slid off the stool, letting her lead him through the maze of tables until they reached her small office. She waited until he followed her in then reached behind her and slammed the door.

Justin winced but didn't say anything. Good, because she suddenly wasn't in the mood. Val turned the lock then leaned against the door, her arms crossed in front of her.

"Okay, out with it. What's going on?" It was her no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners voice, the one that sent grown men scurrying. But Justin merely stood there, his arms hanging loose by his sides, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the hardwood floor.

Not moving, not reacting. Nothing.

Val sighed and ran her hands through her hair in a fit of frustration. What was she doing? If Justin wanted to act like this, like his world had come to an end, who was she to stop him? Who was she to change his mind?

It wasn't like she knew him. Not really. He was one of her brother's teammates. Just one of the guys who came in here to spend money and flirt with the many women patrons.

Except something had happened in the last few months. Justin used to laugh and smile, to carry on and have fun. Maybe too much fun sometimes, but who was she to judge?

She hadn't seen him smile since…she frowned, trying to remember. Since just before Christmas, at least. And okay, if she could remember that, then maybe she had to admit that she paid more attention to Justin than she should.

That didn't mean it was her job to fix him. No, something told her that trying to fix the hard man in front of her would lead to nothing but frustration. Frustration and heartbreak.

Val really didn't have time for either of those things. If she was smart, she'd open the door and push him outside. Tell him goodnight and send him on his way to wherever. But apparently she wasn't feeling very smart because instead of doing that, she stepped closer to him, bending down just enough that she could look into his downturned face.

"Justin, what's going on?"

Maybe it was the words. Or maybe the tone of her voice. Or maybe it was nothing more than the ridiculous way she was standing, half bent over and looking up at the same time. Whatever it was, Justin finally straightened and met her questioning gaze, his dark eyes too deep, too shadowed.

"Last night. I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For getting me home and taking care of me." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His gaze slid past her, looking somewhere over her shoulder, then slowly came back to meet hers. "And to apologize. For—you know. You shouldn't have had to deal with my bullshit."

Val nodded, not sure what to say. She crossed her arms in front of her and nodded again, feeling like an idiot. "You're welcome. And no problem."

"Did I—? I mean, if I tried to do something…if there was something I did that I shouldn't have—"

"No. No, you were fine. Nothing to worry about." Well, okay, except for that minute when he was nuzzling her neck, when she was trying to get him into the bathroom. But she wasn't going to tell him that, not when he already looked so miserable.

Besides, if he hadn't been so drunk, it might have actually been a little nice.

And oh my God, what was she thinking? She needed to stop. Right now.

Val looked away, wondering what else to say. She was suddenly uncomfortable, feeling a little guilty herself. Should she tell him? He wouldn't know, would have no way of remembering. It wouldn't hurt anything if she didn't tell him.

Except she'd always know, and the guilt would make her miserable. She sighed and ran one hand through her hair. Sighed again and finally looked back at Justin, clearing her throat. "I, uh, I need to apologize, too."

"You? For what? Taking care of me?"

"No, for being a pervert." And did she really just say that? Judging from the expression of shock and disbelief on Justin's face, yes, she really did. Well, no help for it now. Better to just get it out and be done with it.

"I, uh, I may have kinda sorta, you know, um, looked—at you—a little too much. Last night. When, uh—" Val cleared her throat and stared down at the floor, her face burning. "When I got you undressed and cleaned up."

Silence filled the room, heavy and uncomfortable for five full seconds. Then a sound she wasn't used to hearing broke the silence. A little rusty, a little forced at first. Then growing in volume, rich and warm. Val lifted her head, her mouth parted in surprise when she realized Justin was laughing.

Not a full-blown laugh, more like a hearty chuckle. Definitely a little rusty, but still a happy—and completely unexpected—warm sound.

She watched, nearly mesmerized by the changes in his face. The corners of his eyes creased with laugh lines. The dark brown of his irises turned brighter somehow, no longer filled with shadows. And his smile. Oh damn, something about that smile smacked her straight in the chest and made her breathing hitch. His smile was crooked, like his mouth wasn't quite used to the movement. Or maybe he always had a crooked smile and she had never really noticed it before. His front tooth was chipped, just the slightest bit, which only made him look more attractive. No, not just attractive. It gave him the hint of boyish charm, which was dangerous.

There was nothing boyish about the man in front of her.

And was it her imagination, or was the most adorable blush spreading across his sculpted cheekbones and rugged jaw?

She was in trouble. A capital T trouble.

Justin's laughter faded away but that dangerous crooked smile remained. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

How was she supposed to answer that? Val tried to smile and nod, then shook her head. Then nodded again. She had to look like some demented puppet, with her head moving back and forth like that, like she didn't know which direction was up.

Val forced her head to stop that insane movement and blew out a heavy breath, hard enough to move the hair out of her eyes. She shifted and looked around the room, not knowing what to do with her hands and suddenly wishing her black dress pants had pockets. If they had pockets, at least she'd have something to do with her hands, instead of waving them around like an idiot.

What in the world was wrong with her, that she couldn't keep her body parts still? First her head, now her hands. Yes, she was definitely in trouble.

She finally crossed her arms in front of her and looked over at Justin, met his gaze for one whole second before moving it to the bulletin board on the wall behind him. "So. What did you mean about being a screw up?"

And just like that, the smile and laughter died on Justin's face. Shadows returned to his eyes, giving him a lost, almost haunted look. And just like that, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything was going to be okay. She wanted to do something to bring that charming smile back to his mouth.

Val didn't move. She couldn't. She was already in trouble when it came to this man, of that she was certain. If she moved, if she said or did anything, she'd be crossing some imaginary line. Not just getting into trouble, but calling it to dance. There was still time to avoid it, time to put distance between herself and trouble.

She dug the tips of her fingers into the flesh of her crossed arms. If she didn't move, if she didn't do anything, she would still be safe.  

"I should go. I just wanted to apologize for last night." Justin stepped toward her. No, not toward her. Toward the door. Getting ready to leave. One more step and he’d be passed her, close enough for his hand to turn the knob and walk out.

He was so close. Close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, close enough she could smell his scent. Something just a little spicy and entirely too masculine.

And not the slightest hint of alcohol.

He was beside her now, moving forward, his hand already reaching for the door. If she didn't move, if she didn't say anything, she'd be safe. All she had to do was wait. One more step—

"Safe is over-rated anyway." She muttered the words as she reached for his arm, stopping him. Justin looked down at her hand wrapped around his forearm, then up at her. She ignored the frown on his face, didn't even want to know what he was thinking, especially if he had heard her muttered words.

He tugged his arm, but just barely. Like he was only making a half-hearted attempt at breaking her hold. Her grip wasn't that tight and she knew, without a doubt, that he could free his arm with no effort at all.

But he wasn't making that effort and she was too afraid to question why.

"Justin, why aren't you playing tonight?"

The corded muscle under her arm tensed and bunched. Justin's jaw clenched, just for a second. And something flashed in his dark eyes, just behind the shadows. Regret. Worry. Self-recrimination. Maybe all three, maybe something else entirely. Val couldn't be sure because the emotions were gone just as quickly, hidden behind a carefully blank mask.

"Val, it's nothing—"

"Yes, it is." She tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the desk. It would be great if she had a small sofa or something in here, someplace where they could sit side-by-side together and talk. But she didn't, there wasn't room. So she took another step toward the desk, closer until she could actually lean on it. And she didn't release the hold on his arm, didn't motion for him to sit in the chair. She didn't want him to feel like she was towering over him, interrogating him. And yes, that sounded ridiculous, especially considering he was a couple inches over six feet and at least a head taller than she.

He watched her, his dark eyes wary, uncertain. But he didn't try to step back, didn't try to pull his arm away. So she loosened her hold, just enough that she could drag her hand down his arm to his own hand. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, giving him silent encouragement.

"Talk to me, Justin. Tell me what's going on. Why aren't you playing?" Val watched him, wondering if he would answer. He wasn't trying to pull away but that didn't mean anything.

A minute went by, then another, the only sound in the room that of their breathing, quiet, hushed. Muted noise from the restaurant seeped around the door edges but even that was quiet, slowly fading until it was just the two of them.

Justin's jaw clenched, the muscle on the right side jumping once, twice. This close to him, Val could see the small scar just under his lip, the line a faded white mark. Another scar, just there on the bridge of his nose, slashing across the bridge that marked at least one break, if not more.