Taking A Shot (23 page)

Only he wasn’t back, and now that he wasn’t, she missed him. She missed how he smelled, she missed how he felt, and she missed his sexy grin. She missed talking to him.

So what are you going to do about that, Jenna?

Normally she’d do nothing. She never chased a guy.

But she wasn’t finished with Ty just yet.

TY HAD HIS FEET UP ON THE SOFA, THE GAME CON-troller resting on his stomach as he stalked the enemy.

“Yeah, you bastard. You can run, but you can’t hide, because I know exactly where you are.”

He was as quiet as a rolling storm cloud as he snuck up behind his target, not even hesitating as he drew his knife and slit the enemy’s throat. Blood spurted from his victim’s neck and he fell to the ground.

He laughed as kill points rolled up against his online opponent.

“Kicked your ass, Warlord.” Whoever Warlord was. Probably some twelve year old who had no business playing a game this violent, but hey, he wasn’t the kid’s parent. He tossed the game controller on the sofa and stood, raking his fingers through his hair.

That game was so disgusting. Yet strangely addicting. If he ever had kids he wasn’t going to let them anywhere near video games. He
was going to drag their butts out of the house as soon as they could walk and make them play sports.

Yeah, right. He’d probably sit side by side with them on the sofa and play those same violent war games with them.

Or, God forbid, he’d have girls and he’d end up playing some games that had to do with rainbow ponies. Or Barbie. Or something Disney related.

Yikes. Though the thought of a little girl with a long ponytail kicking around a soccer ball or becoming a skater like him—figure skater, though—didn’t horrify him as much as it would have a few years ago.

What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t going to get married, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to have kids.

Not anytime soon. No, not ever. The thought of screwing up some kid’s life the way his parents had done to him? No. He wouldn’t be responsible for that.

His cell phone rang and he frowned. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew it was late. He grabbed the phone, surprised to see Jenna’s number come up.

“Hey,” he said after punching the button.

“Hey yourself. I know, it’s really late. Were you asleep?”

He laughed. “Uh, no.”

“Are you on a date?”

Leave it to Jenna to be direct. “No. Are you?”

“Of course not. I had to work tonight.”

He looked at his phone. It was only midnight. “Shouldn’t you still be at work?”

“Yes. But I want to see you. Are you at home?”

He smiled. “Sure. Come on over.”

“Be right there.”

Interesting. And crap, his place was a cyclone. Gear in his living room, cans everywhere, and he was pretty sure the place smelled like
gym socks. He did a quick pick up and vacuum, then sprayed with that stuff that took the odor out of the house. Hopefully it removed natural guy-stink.

By the time Jenna rang his doorbell, he had jumped in the shower and managed to pull on a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt.

She looked great and he couldn’t help but feel a punch to the gut seeing her at his front door.

“Hi. Come in.”

She stepped inside. She smelled good, like she’d just sprayed on something that smelled wild and musky. He wanted to get closer and bury his nose in her neck to investigate that scent a little more, but he resisted the urge since he had no idea what she was doing here.

He took her coat. “Want something to drink?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay. Have a seat. I picked up the apocalypse of a mess, but it’s not pretty around here.”

She laughed. “And you’ve seen my place, so I never would have noticed.”

“Yeah, but a guy lives here. Trust me, you’d have noticed. Especially the dirty socks smell.”

“Doubtful. I have two brothers, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. You win that round.” He sat on the sofa next to her.

She picked up the controller. “Playing video games?”

“Yeah.”

“I would have thought you’d have been watching game films to figure out why you all played so shitty on the road.”

“I watch plenty of game films with the team. And we played like shit because we were trying too hard. Hockey is a mental game as well as physical. You start getting in your own head too much, it screws with your game play.”

“Do you really think that’s the problem?”

“I know it’s the problem. We have the best team in the league. We can win the division and go to the playoffs with the talent we have. For some reason we hit a slump because everyone started worrying about this road trip and freaking out about the caliber of teams we were going to play. At least we salvaged the last game of the road trip.”

“So you did.”

As much fun as it was to debrief his games, it was time to put an end to this and get to the real reason Jenna was here. “Is that why you came tonight? To analyze my game play?”

She took a deep breath. “Wow. We’re getting into that already, huh?”

“You called this meeting. Might as well.”

“You’re right.” She half turned to face him, pulling her knee up on the sofa.

She looked pretty tonight. She’d worn a knit dress that clung to her curves, and added dark tights and ankle boots. Her hair spiked up and her dangly earrings twinkled in the light cast by the lamp on his table next to the sofa. She looked soft and feminine and he wanted to gather her against him and kiss every part of her he could see…followed by all the parts of her skin he couldn’t see.

She was quiet, obviously struggling with whatever it was she wanted to say.

But this time, the ball was going to be in her court. He wasn’t going to take the lead, no matter how much he wanted to.

She leaned her elbow against the back of the sofa, then laid her head in the palm of her hand and looked around his living room, though there wasn’t anything to look at. A few pictures, some crappy art he’d bought because Liz had recommended it, and a few things he’d picked up to sit on tables because he liked the way they looked. But he didn’t think Jenna was admiring his art.

There was something she needed to say, but it wasn’t coming out.

She studied the ring on her thumb, then circled it around with her fingers. It was painful to watch her struggle.

He stood, walked to the front door, and grabbed his jacket and her coat. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Out.”

WHEN TY HAD SAID THEY WERE GOING OUT, JENNA figured they’d take a drive, some fresh air so she could get past this lump in her throat and find her voice.

She had no idea they’d end up at the freaking Ice hockey arena at one in the morning.

Who knew he had that much pull that he could get them into the arena?

And now she was being laced up in skates and protective gear and thrust out onto the ice, the lights turned on, while Tyler skated toward her with two hockey sticks in his hands.

God, she had no idea how devastatingly sexy he was in his hockey gear. On television, it was at a distance, and she never went to the games. Not since she was a kid, anyway.

But seeing him come toward her, bent over in game form, sliding that puck back and forth—holy hell it was a turn on that shocked her all the way down to her laced-up skates.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, skating around her, sliding the puck between her skates and scooping it up behind her. “I do a lot of thinking when I’m on the ice. Helps me clear my head. So let’s play a little one-on-one, and maybe you’ll figure out what you need to say.”

She could skate as well as either of her brothers, had gone to the ice rink every winter since she was a little girl, so she had no problem
going toe-to-toe with him, but she was no pro hockey player. “We could have just sat on the sofa and talked it out.”

He lifted up his mask and grinned at her. “My way is more fun.”

He slid the puck to her and started skating backward. “Pretend I’m the defender of my goal. Now try to get the puck by me.”

He was going to obliterate her. She already knew that, but she was competitive enough to give it a try. She pushed forward on her skates, feeling bulky and hindered with the gear on, and half blinded by the helmet. Still, she skated on, trying to keep the puck moving with her stick as she advanced toward Tyler, who stood at the left face-off circle, in front of where the goal would be.

And then he moved forward, skating toward her like a high-speed train. She shifted to the right, but he was on her in seconds, sweeping the puck away from her and forcing her to turn or skate backward.

She wasn’t as fast backward as she was forward, so she had to turn around and that slowed her down. He was already at the other end by the time she turned.

He brought the puck around to center ice and swept it back to her.

“You’re slow. Try to pick it up this time.”

“If I high stick you in the balls, you’ll slow down,” she said, irritation piquing.

He laughed and backed away. “That would cost you a penalty.”

She glared at him. “Who will you play with if I’m in the penalty box?”

“Wasn’t the kind of penalty I’m talking about.”

“Yeah? And what kind of penalty is that?”

He put his stick around her back and drew her against him.

“A time out.”

“Bogus, Anderson.” She pushed off and grabbed the puck, racing for the imaginary goal since there wasn’t a net in place. She knew she
was no match for Ty’s speed on the ice but she intended to give it her all. She caught sight of him on her right side and dug in, giving it all she had, then reared back with the stick and slammed a shot forward, hitting the goal spot and lifting her stick in the air in triumph.

She skidded to a stop, Tyler a few feet away. She laid her hands on her knees because she was sucking wind so hard her chest hurt, but she was grinning like a crazy person. It had felt great.

He stopped beside her. She turned her head to him. “I scored a goal.”

“So you did. Feel good about that?”

“I do, but I have a feeling you let me win.”

He lifted up his mask and gave her a fierce glare. “Woman, you know how competitive I am. Do you really think I’d let you score on me?”

She squinted, studying him. “Hmmm, probably not. You’d likely try and kick my ass.”

“You’re right about that.” He moved in closer, backing her toward the boards until she was cornered. He pulled off her helmet and it clattered on the ice.

“You should take better care of your equipment. It needs to protect your head.”

“That’s practice equipment. We treat game equipment like gold.” He pulled off his gloves and pressed his hand against her neck. His fingers were cold. They felt good against her heated skin. Who knew one could sweat like this on the ice? She knew the guys worked hard when they played the game—she watched how fast they skated and wondered how they didn’t exhaust themselves. Ty’s muscular body told her how hard they worked at it.