Crew (Hockey Royalty #3)

20. Liv

Chapter 20

Liv

I don’t know what we’re doing. I mean, he’s interested in Shelby. Why is he here? It must be because he doesn’t want me to tell anyone about what we did. Maybe he’s worried it will ruin his chances with Shelby.

We get to the sidewalk in front of the building and I stop walking. He is a few feet ahead of me and doesn’t realize I’m not behind him for another couple of feet. He turns back to find me.

“I don’t think we need to do this,” I tell him, trying to be strong and ballsy like the woman tidying my kitchen.

He starts walking back toward me. He's a vision, honestly. Crew is wearing a pair of jeans and a navy T-shirt that tugs and pulls in all the right places, and he's got a camel-colored corduroy jacket in his hand. "What don't we have to do? Talk?"

“Yeah. I mean I know why you’re here." I shrug and force my eyes to stay on his face, even though the afternoon sun is catching the golden strands of his hair and between that and the darker stubble on his jaw, it's making his eyes look brighter and lighter than I have ever seen them. His face is just flat-out devastatingly handsome.

“Okay, I’ll play. Why do you think I’m here?”

His voice is light but the look on his face says he is not, in fact, amused. He folds his arms over that lovely chest of his. "You know what I heard last night," I say square my shoulders and clench my fists so I don’t fidget or shake. “You are interested in dating my cousin, Shelby. You’re here to talk about whether or not I’m going to tell her about what we did. Because I, unfortunately, have the power to mess up your shot.”

“Really?”

I can’t read him right now. He looks equal parts smug and annoyed and I don’t know exactly what to do with that. I wish I dated more complex men… or had more complex relationships. I’m once again a fish out of water.

“As I recall you’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know that we hooked up,” Crew reminds me as the wind picks up and slaps me in the face with a warm gust.

“You have a teammate rule you didn’t want to get caught breaking too, remember?” I wait for a response. All I get is a half-nod. “Can you just tell me one thing? Why would you break the rule for Shelby and not me?”

“I did break the rule for you.”

“You didn’t know you broke it.”

“And then I did know. And then I broke it again.”

Palm fronds above us rustle their discontent as the wind picks up again. I brush my hair back as it hits my cheek. “I’m bad at this.”

“At what? Going for a drive. Yeah, you kinda suck at it because you’re rooted to the ground like the cement dried around your feet,” Crew says. “Can you walk to my bike already?”

“Bike?”

"Yeah. I'm on my motorcycle today. It was easier to cut through Sunday traffic." Of course, the hot, tatted hockey star who looks like he could have been Charlie Hunnam's stunt double in Sons of Anarchy has a motorcycle. Of course.

He starts walking backward, his eyes still on me, his hand stretched out toward me. "Come on, Fireball. Your mom told you to go for a ride with me and you are not the type of girl to disobey a parent."

“I can be,” I counter but I’m already walking, following him.

He grins. “Oh I’ve seen the glimmer of the bad girl in you and I approve.”

Now I’m the color of the fire hydrant across the street. Crew comes to a halt one building down in front of an intimidatingly large matte black Honda Shadow. He unclips two helmets and hands me one. “Do you know how to buckle this up correctly?”

I take the helmet and drop it on my head. “Nope. Not a clue. You’re my first biker dude.”

He chuckles and starts doing up the strap under my chin. His fingers keep brushing my skin and I force myself to ignore how much I like it. He’s not mine. Never was and isn’t going to be. Stop with your nonsense, heart.

“I like being your first in things, Olivia,” he says in a raspy whisper and he gives the strap a final tug and steps back to put on his own helmet.

It feels weird standing here with the giant heavy thing encasing my head. It’s way heavier than a bicycle helmet, which is the only other kind I've worn. He straddles the motorcycle, grabbing handles, pulling it upright, and kicking the stand back with the heel of his boot. "Okay, hop on."

I look at the sliver of seat left behind that sculpted bubble butt of his. I cock my head in hesitation. “There isn’t enough room.”

“There is,” he promises. “You’re going to have to get real close, wedge yourself right up against me. You’re good at that, Fireball.”

Helmets are hot. I'm hot. I fight the urge to fan myself. Instead, I slam down the tinted visor grab his shoulders, and, as gracefully as possible, haul myself up and onto the back of the motorcycle. He's right, I have to squish right up against him. My crotch is pressed up to the back of that hard firm ass of his like I'm trying to become one with it. Every inch of his back is touching every inch of my front. My hands are gripping his sides lightly, but he reaches back and tugs them forward until my hands meet between his pecs.

“Hold tight,” he says and the bike roars to life, and before I can blink we’re gliding down my street.

I'm slightly scared but in that good, rollercoaster way. I feel safe with Crew. We get to Sunset and he turns left onto the busy street. The warm wind has the ends of my hair flying everywhere as buildings and billboards blur. A few blocks later he stops at a light and as he puts his feet down to steady the bike while we wait for the green he turns his head. "You okay back there?"

"Yeah, but I thought you wanted to talk?"

“I do. We should probably pull over somewhere, but I like having you wrapped around me like a koala bear,” he says and I smack his chest with the flat of my hand and suppress a giggle.

“I am not a koala,” I reply. “Turn right at Crescent Heights. I know a place we can talk.”

“You got it, Fireball.”

The light changes and Crew takes off. He follows my directions and as Crescent Heights turns into Laurel Canyon I take my hand off him long enough to point to the low, squat orange and teal building pressed into the foot of the hills. He signals and gently glides the bike around the side of the iconic little bodega to the parking lot.

As soon as he cuts the engine, I peel myself off the bike and Crew. I fumble with the tie but finally manage to get it undone and yank off the helmet. He’s watching me with amused eyes. I try to smooth my hair and hand him the helmet.

He locks both helmets on the bike and looks around. "What is this place?"

“Are you serious?” Does he really not know? “The Laurel Canyon store.”

“Okay. Cool. We’re shopping.” He shrugs. “Like a grocery store? Is my Fireball out of sugar?”

He used m e. That feels unfair. Actually, it feels good and that's why it's unfair. I bite my lip and start toward the store. "Follow me. It's a literal tragedy that you don't know what this place is. Consider this a gift. I'm about to introduce you to a piece of music history and the best millionaire’s shortbread you’ve ever tasted.”

“What now?”

As we enter the store, I explain to him everything I know about this little piece of Los Angeles history. How the store was a haven for the Southern California Rockers in the seventies. How David Crosby used to spend days wandering the porch, and Jim Morrison lived behind the place. How the Eagles would roll down from the hills and pick up beers or smokes to head back up the hill and jam some more at whatever house they were squatting in while they struggled to get gigs. How Joni Mitchell would shop and flirt here.

“Wow. I think you were born in the wrong decade,” Crew says with a soft smile as we wander the cramped aisles of the tiny store, browsing all the wonderful and sometimes ridiculous items that are crammed onto the shelves. There’s Cheerios next to Jesus candles. Brightly colored containers of Cuban coffee next to pastel mugs that say ‘Give Peace a Chance’. “I can tell by the way your whole face is lit up like a Christmas tree that this place really speaks to you.”

“I’m an Art Education major, remember?” I touch a pile of Teddy Bears wearing sunglasses. They’re soft and velvety. “Music is art. In fact, I’m currently teaching a music and music history class at a middle school as part of my internship.”

“Do you love it?”

“I do.” I smile. Crew smiles back. It’s not sexy or sarcastic or sly. It’s just a smile. Simple, pure, and gorgeous.

“I can tell you love it because you look like I feel when I’m talking about hockey.”

God, this is a good moment. I am in love with this moment. This connection… this… but wait. We’re not here to connect. We’re here to disconnect. He likes Shelby. I inhale sharply and step around him—no easy task in the cramped space. “Let’s grab some chai and that shortbread I was mentioning.”

I march up to the counter in the deli department, where they also have all the fancy coffee equipment of a Starbucks and a healthy baked goods section. The girl behind the counter gives me a warm smile because she’s seen my face before. I used to come in here a few evenings a week to study. “Hi Rosie, can I get a chai tea, two millionaire’s shortbread squares, and… what do you want to drink?"

I glance over at Crew. He shrugs. “Surprise me.”

I turn back to Rosie. “Two chais please.”

Rosie punches it in grabs two of the pre-wrapped shortbread squares and hands them to me as I dig out my money. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought maybe you moved away.”

“Nope. Still here.”

"No late-night study sessions anymore?” Rosie asks. “I liked having you here until close. Kept me company. Now it’s just me and Bobby McGee and he doesn’t curl up on me like he does to you. Just keeps trying to scratch me, the rat bastard.”

“One day I’ll be back,” I promise. “Give Bobby my love.”

She finishes making the teas and slides them across the counter. Crew reaches over me and picks them up and then follows me to the little porch on the front. There are rickety old sets of tables and chairs out there. I pick a bright green set in the corner.

“Wait!” I command as he sits his giant self down in the teeny chair across from me. I take a sip of the chai and then start unwrapping the shortbread. “If we are going to have this painfully awkward conversation, I am going to at least have some of this deliciousness in my belly to distract me.”

“What painfully awkward conversation are we having?” Crew wants to know as he blows on his tea. It’s totally unmanly and absolutely adorable at the same time.

“The one where you ask me if it’s a problem if you date my cousin,” I say, and already I want to die of humiliation. I bite into the shortbread. It's not helping the way I want it to but it is delicious. "And I say it is a problem for me and then you remind me how a one-night stand works and that I don't have a right to any feelings because one-night stands don't matter. And as you said before, I was the one who wanted to keep this private. I don't get to change the rules now. And I need?—"

“You need to stop talking.”

My mouth is frozen, half open, but silent as requested. Crew sips his tea. “This is weird. It’s like someone heated up wheat grass. I don’t think it’s my thing.”

He puts it down on the table. I reach across and pick it up. “More for me.”

That amused look is back in his eyes, which glints with copper tones in the sunlight shining down on us. "Are you done now? Can I speak?"

I nod and then immediately shake my head. “Nope. I’m not done. You can date Shelby if you want to date Shelby. She’ll never leave Silver Bay. She’s very happy and has a great job. But maybe that distance makes dating easier for a self-proclaimed commitment-phobe like you.”

“When did I proclaim myself commitmentphobic?”

“You said you don’t want anything after your ex,” I remind him and he averts his eyes. Yup. I nailed it. “I remember everything. Anyway, I can forget this ever happened and you go be with… whoever. Even if it’s Shelby. My cousin. A direct blood relative in a family that’s closer than peas in a pod. But yeah. Whatever.”

I stare off at Laurel Canyon Boulevard where there's a constant stream of cars zipping to and from the San Fernando Valley. I'm trying to look cool and unaffected. I sip my tea. I bite off a piece of my shortbread. But he stays silent so long that I have to steal a glance at him.

Crew is staring at me with the most deliciously intense gaze. Like he's trying to peel off my clothes using telepathic superpowers. And it’s so hot that I find myself wishing he had those powers. I bite my lip. He leans forward, big forearm covering almost the whole top of the table, and with his free hand he presses his thumb to my chin and tugs my lip free from my teeth. “You can’t forget our time together.”

“No. I can’t. But I can pretend I forgot.”

“What if I don’t want you to.”

“If you tell Shelby we… did it… she won’t date you,” I warn him.

“That would be a tragedy if I wanted to date Shelby,” he replies and leans back in his seat, finally unwrapping his shortbread. I’m already halfway through mine. “I don’t. I have never had a single ounce of interest in Shelby Garrison.”

"Why not?" I demand. "Shelby is gorgeous and she's smart. She's got a great career and big heart and an incredible sense of humor. She's also sporty. Loves hiking in the summer and skating in the winter. She and Harlow were state figure skating champions you know. Who doesn't want a champion?"

He chuckles. It’s such a deep, satisfying sound. “So you’re not just okay with me dating Shelby, you want me to.”

“What? No!”

“Then stop shaming me for not being interested. FYI I went into the lounge to find you that night, but Tenley saw me and I couldn’t tell her that so I stupidly asked to meet your cousin and she took it the wrong way.” He bites into the shortbread and after chewing a second he moans and I feel it like he just licked my clit. Sweet Lord, this man. I have never been this physically reactive to someone. How does he do this to me? “This is incredible! What’s it called again?”

"Millionaire's shortbread," I say and smile at his praise. "Rosie makes it herself. Not hockey diet-friendly though. It's got a whole pound of butter in it, which is probably why Bobby McGee hates Rosie. He loves butter and always wants to steal a bar from behind the counter and she has to shoo him off because of the chocolate layer. He can’t have chocolate.”

“Who the hell is this Bobby McGee?”

I scan the area and find him in one of his favorite haunts, under a potted palm in the far corner of the porch. I point. Crew’s eyes land on the long-haired tabby cat. “A stray that showed up at the store as a kitten. They lock him in at night so he doesn’t get eaten by coyotes or smoked by a car.”

He nods. “The name is because of the history of the store?”

“Yes. But more specifically Rosie thinks his meowing sounds like Janis Joplin singing.” I lean forward and whisper the next part because I know it sounds crazy but I don’t not believe it. “Rosie swears the cat is Janis reincarnated.”

Crew’s eyes widen and he slides them back to the cat. Then back to me. He is trying so hard not to laugh. “Who are we to say no?”

“Exactly.” I break first, giggling, and he lets his laughter fly.

We giggle so long and hard that I have to wipe tears from my eyes. He finishes the last of his shortbread in one big bite and after he swallows he says, “How can something that feels so easy be so complicated?”

I blink, the cup of chai against my lips. “Huh?”

He motions to me and then to himself. "We're easy. Together. This…. isn't work. It's easy. I've never had an easy relationship."

I don’t want to say anything to that because I don’t want to ruin the feeling that’s washing over me. It’s warm, sweet, happy. I smile and sip the last of my tea.

"But it's also fucking complicated as fuck," he announces and balls up the shortbread wrapper. "If we go public with this then I have to explain to Tate and the team, I broke the teammate policy. And I mean… there are other factors."

He pauses and doesn't tell me what those other factors are. Instead, he tosses the wrapper through the air and it swishes into a garbage can across the patio. Pleased with himself he grins and then stands and gives me his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

I take his hand and stand. He yanks me to his chest so unexpectedly I squeak but then his lips are brushing mine and I sigh, tip my head, and kiss him. He softly cups my cheek and kisses me back, long and hard and like no one is watching. But someone is watching—Bobby McGee. I catch his judgy glare as we break apart.

Hand-in-hand we walk back to the bike. "So Inky, are you saying you want to go public with this one-night stand?"

“I’m saying… if you’re game, I’d like to keep doing this, for an undesignated amount of nights,” he replies. He turns and pulls me into his chest again. “And maybe some days too.”

This is not happening… I never get everything I want exactly when I want it. I’m not that girl. I’m okay with it. I mean, my life works out, no complaints…. I mean no big ones. But this… Crew is willing to test the dating waters, after everything he’s been through, with me. I’m getting what I have chastised myself for dreaming of. Hoping for.

He snaps his fingers in front of me, a careless smile on his lips. “Are you in shock? Was I that much of a long shot?”

"The longest shot, the biggest risk, the one-in-a-million shot in the dark.” I can’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt. My heart is pounding. I feel like dancing.

“We should go back in there and buy a lottery ticket.” He winks, cheeky bastard.

He pulls me to him and kisses me again. It’s long and slow and warmer than the wind swirling around us. I did it. I stopped being scared and timid and I got everything I’ve wanted.

Life is so good.