Stick Play (Boston Bucks #4)

2. Ash

2

Ash

F ebruary, All Star Weekend.

“To think you could have flown to the Caribbean with your friends on a private plane yesterday and missed last night’s snowstorm,” Dad grunts out with a laugh as he steps outside to help me clear his driveway.

I shrug, slide my shovel across the path, and toss the heavy wet snow over my shoulder. “I don’t like the heat.”

I glance at him as he pulls on his gloves. “That’s news to me.” His breath turns to fog in the cool morning air. “When you were a kid, all you wanted to do was go to the community pool.”

“That’s because I don’t like the heat and wanted to cool off.”

“If you say so.”

Clearly, he doesn’t believe me and why would he? I loved playing outdoors shirtless in the summer. Swimming, biking, running under the sprinklers. In fact, I like being shirtless most of the time. But it’s really only acceptable in summer.

“I do say so.” He grunts again, and as I wipe my face with my gloved hand, he reaches for a shovel. I put my hand on his to stop him. “Don’t. I got this. It’s almost done.”

His gaze jumps to mine. “You think your old man can’t shovel his own walkway?” Mumbling curses under his breath, he cocks his head and I avert my gaze because the man can read me like an open book. “Is that why you stayed home, so you could keep an eye on me?” he challenges.

Partly.

I don’t tell him that, though. He’s a proud man, and after his heart attack two years ago, I was finally able to convince him to come live in Boston near me. I’ve been worried about him. He assures me the stent they put in has made him feel twenty years younger, but he’s the only family I have, and I’m not taking any chances. At least I convinced him he didn’t have to work anymore. I have enough money for the both of us, but he does take odd jobs just to keep busy.

“No, Dad. I know you can do your own driveway. I’m home because I don’t like the heat.”

“That’s the third time you told me that and now I’m wondering who it is you’re trying to convince.” I scoop more snow, scraping my shovel along the cement to clear it all. I don’t want to leave any traces behind. I’m not sure I trust the local meteorologist, but the temperature is supposed to drop tonight, and I don’t want Dad slipping on ice when he goes out for his daily walk. Not even the frigid weather can keep him inside, and honestly, I’m happy that he’s exercising and eating better.

“I don’t need to convince anyone of anything.” Jesus, I sound grumpy.

Dad waves to his neighbor as he drives down the street. “You realize you’ve been in a slump now for about six months.”

“Been playing my ass off, and I’m just tired. You know what the NHL season is like?”

He throws his arms up in the air. “All the more reason you should have gone to the Caribbean with your friends.”

Exasperated with the way he’s pushing my buttons, I drive the shovel into the snow, and lean against the handle. “What’s really on your mind, Dad?” I huff out.

He adjusts his wool hat and shrugs. “Just saying, lots of pretty girls on the beach.”

“You know I’m not into that.”

A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is there something else you want to tell me?” He puts a gloved hand on my shoulder. “I love you for who you are, son and?—”

I shake my head. I love my father with every fiber of my being. He’s a hard-working handyman, who taught me everything he knows. After Mom left us both, he worked day and night to pay for my hockey, but today, he’s pressing, trying to get me to admit something…

I know what that something is.

“I need to keep a low profile.” I soften my voice. I’m not mad at him. “You know that. We’ve talked about it.” Christ, after my ex-girlfriend, a well-known influencer—correction, she only became well-known after she threw me under the bus—went on social media and accused me of horrible things, like drinking and driving and banging numerous bunnies at the same time, she went viral and I… Well, as the world sympathized with her, I was hauled into Coach Sanders’ office and torn a new one.

Clean up your act, Ash. We don’t need this negative publicity.

He wanted to get me a publicist. I thought that would only draw more attention to a situation that was nothing but lies and embarrassing enough. I assured my teammates it wasn’t true, and they believed me, never bringing it up again. But now I have to keep my head down, my stick on the ice, my focus on hockey. There’s no room for bunnies, drama, or accusations.

Is there room for Gina?

Gina Martin.

I’d fought so damn hard to ignore her over the last couple of years, but when I went to help with her fridge last summer and she had that adorable smudge of grease on her face, it was all I could do not to tear her clothes off and take her right in her café. Then when she came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, not even Portland’s strong defense team could have kept me away.

Afterward, she ignored me.

Completely and utterly pretending I didn’t exist.

Like we didn’t have the best sex of my life on her dining room table.

Even at group events, she acted like nothing happened—like she didn’t come apart with my fingers, my mouth…my cock.

My dick twitches at the memories.

“You’re a man in your prime, Ash.” Dad’s voice pulls me back and I start shoveling again. “You should be in the Caribbean having fun.”

“I don’t want to have fun.” The truth is, I never was much into the bunnies, even though everyone thinks the opposite. I’m kind of a one-woman man, and that one woman I currently can’t stop thinking about is a mother of a small girl, and she wants nothing more to do with me—and the fact that she has a small girl should be enough for me to run the other way.

Having grown up with no mother of my own, with zero female influences in my life, what do I know about girls? If she had a boy, I could at least take him to the rink, teach him to play hockey, but when it comes to sugar and spice, I’d just fuck that up.

What am I even saying?

I’m not going down that winding road with her or anyone. I need to stay on the straight and narrow, head in the game.

“Well, I’m not getting any younger, you know. Maybe you would have found a nice girl in the Caribbean. Someday I’d like grandkids. That would give me something to do with my day.” He snorts. “Maybe I’ll just go back to work full time.”

“Dad, you’re not…I’m not…” Dammit, he loves to hold that over me. Maybe grandkids are exactly what he needs. If only I had a sibling, but I don’t because dear old Mom ran off. “What do I know about raising kids?”

When he looks like he’s about to protest, I pull myself up to my full height and fold my arms. “I just want to play hockey, Dad, and make my team proud. I was never going to find a nice girl in the Caribbean.”

Oh, is that because Gina opted to stay home, Ash?

“I am not looking for any sort of a relationship or commitment, short or long term,” I continue, and shake my head. “If Coach hears one more negative word…”

While I’m trying to do what’s best for the team, Dad is astute enough to know that Coach reaming me out is not why I’ve been grumpy for the last six months.

But you know that staying away from Gina really is for the best, dude. You basically told her it was a bad idea before you put your cock inside her.

Yeah, so. Shut the fuck up.

You have a reputation to keep clean. Messing around with a single mom isn’t going to help.

Fuck you.

That summer day, while it was fucking awesome, had to be a one-time thing. It’s not like either of us were looking for a deeper relationship. Lessons learned early on taught me all women leave. Thanks, Mom. Or that women want something from me. Thanks, Liza. But still, staying away from Gina is for the best, and I know it.

After that internal debate, I exhale and do one last pass over the driveway and set my shovel against the side of the house.

“I should get going.”

Dad starts up the three steps leading to his front door. “You’re not coming in for breakfast? I thought you were hungry.”

“I’m just going to grab something on the way home. I have a lot to do today.”

He turns and holds the wooden rail that will need a fresh coat of paint come spring. He smirks and says, “Say hello to her for me.”

Jesus. My body stiffens even though I’m trying for casual. “There is no her,” I grouch, and he just waves his hand and laughs.

“Call me later.”

He steps inside and closes the door and I just shake my head. I don’t know how he knows, but he knows. I turn and walk back to my truck, and while everything in me urges me to drive home, I don’t. I head toward the Nook, Gina’s café. It’s not that I want to see her. I’m just worried about her getting her walkway cleared. She’s home with her daughter, and is also babysitting Brighton and Noah’s kids, Camryn and Tate. Three kids and running a café. There’s no way she can get out to clear her walkway. I’d do it for any of the guys, their wives or girlfriends, if they needed the help. This has nothing to do with me wanting her.

Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, dude.

I drive slowly through the streets and find parking close to the Nook. It’s Monday morning, and I’m sure Gina, being run off her feet with the work week crowd, could use a hand.

With hurried steps, I make my way to the Nook, and find the snow in Gina’s walkway trampled down with footprints. It’s a good thing I came. This could easily turn into ice and someone could get hurt.

I open the door and the warmth of the place, along with the fresh scent of coffee, curls around me. Gina’s head lifts as the bell overhead jingles, and honest to God, for the first time in a long time, she seems relieved to see me. Okay, I’m going to be honest with you here. It’s not the first time I’ve been lurking around her place, offering to help her out with this or that. She never lets me, and yet here I am again skulking around like a ridiculous hormonal teen with a crush.

“Ash.” The panic in her tone grips my gut and squeezes tight.

“Gina,” I say and tug off my gloves and hat. “Everything okay?”

A fork drops near me, and she winces as she looks around my body. “Just a second.” She hurries to the kitchen to get the customer a new fork, and after handing it over, comes back to me. “I’m short-staffed. Sherry has been out sick for days. Carla called in this morning. She’s not feeling well either, and my backup Andre couldn’t make it in with the road closures, and Margo my sitter was late getting here from next door because she was snowed in, and waiting for someone to clear her steps, and I was late opening, and there was a crowd waiting outside.”

As the list goes on, I ask, “What can I do?” Somewhat breathlessly, she blinks up at me and I unzip my coat as the warmth of the place heats me up. At least I think it’s the warmth of the place. I guess it could be her close proximity that’s messing with my body temperature. “Wait tables, cook, or clear the walkway first?”

Her hand lands on my arm, and I swear to God, it’s like a bolt of electricity right to my balls.

“Ash, no, it’s okay.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t have anything to do today, and I wanted to check on your walkway anyway.”

Warmth and appreciation move into her face. “That’s really nice of you. But cooking? Waiting tables?”

“I’m a man of many talents, remember?”

Heat rushes into her face, and my heart leaps. Okay, so maybe she’s not as unaffected by me as she lets on. I have no idea why that gives me pleasure. I know I need to stay away from her.

Yet here I am.

She looks to the left and then to the right when someone raises their hand to signal. When her gaze zeroes back in on me, it’s like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. “You can cook, for real?”

“Yes, I can. For real. I had a lot of responsibility as a child.” Now why the hell did I tell her that?

A wave of something that looks like sympathy moves over her eyes, before she frowns in worry again.

“It’s café cooking, Gina. Not a Michelin star restaurant. I got this.”

She gives a curt nod. “Okay, I’m backed up in the kitchen.” She takes my hand in hers and pulls me into the kitchen. “The orders are here.” She shows me the tickets lined up. “Once an order is ready, just ring this bell.”

“Got it.” She hesitates for a second. I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her. “I got it, Gina.”

“Okay,” she breathes out and steps toward the swinging door. Before she leaves, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“We’ll see.”

With that, she leaves and I pick up the oldest order and start on it right away. Breakfast foods are easy. If I had to make gourmet meals, I might not be such a great help. I work methodically and start putting the orders up fast, and each time I ring the bell and Gina shows up with a grateful smile on her face, it makes me want to do even more for her. But I know she’s never going to let me. She’s damn independent, and while I hate that, I also love that about her.

She’s definitely not the kind of girl to use others to get ahead in this world. She relies only on herself and again, while I hate that, I also love that.

We work long and hard through the morning rush, and when it slows before the lunch crowd, I tug on my coat, hat and mitts, and go out to clear her walkway. Every once in a while, I glance into the café to find her eyes on me, and yeah, okay, I kind of like her looking. Jesus, I really am a ridiculous hormonal teenager with a crush.

As soon as I finish clearing the snow, I head back in, shrug out of my wet coat, hat and mitts and slip my apron back on. Gina gives me a quick rundown on how to make the lunch food and goes back to take orders.

It’s late afternoon by the time she turns the sign on the window from open to closed. As I put the last dish in the dishwasher, she comes into the kitchen, a tired but happy look on her face. She’s a giver, likes what she does and I’m happy about that.

“Done.” She unties her apron and hangs it onto the hook. I wipe my hands on the dish towel to keep them occupied as she tugs the elastic from her hair and lets it splay over her shoulders.

“I should go.”

“No.”

That one word, spoken so fast and abruptly stops me in my tracks. “What?”

“Stay for dinner. Let me cook for you. It’s the least I can do for all your help today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

I roll one shoulder. “You’re tough and would have been just fine, but I’m glad I could lighten your load.”

“Okay let me…” Her voice falls off. “Wait, maybe you already have plans tonight. You are on break this weekend.”

“I don’t have plans.”

She crinkles up her nose, and pushes her dark hair from her face. “Okay, let me do something to thank you for today, and I still owe you for fixing my fridge and air conditioning last summer.”

As I consider last summer, heat zings through my body and strokes my dick. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Her grin is mischievous and holds a measure of playfulness that arouses the fuck out of me. “And well, what we did afterward…”

I gulp as she alludes to what we did on her kitchen table. My body tightens and I tug off the apron and set it on the counter. “What are you getting at, Gina?”

She glances around the clean kitchen and smiles. “Just that you’ve done a lot for me last summer. In both of my kitchens.”

I clear my throat as my dick jumps, anxious to visit her upstairs kitchen again. “You weren’t the only one who benefitted.”

“No, I guess not.” She turns the light off and pulls the bottom of my shirt, guiding me to the stairs that lead up to her upstairs apartment. “So, I guess in a way, I did pay you back.”

“Are you saying sex was payback for my repair work?”

She thinks about it for a second. “Payback, no. Not really. I guess it can’t be when we both got something out of it, right?”

“What exactly are you saying, then?”

“That I want to cook for you and if you don’t consider that payback, maybe there’s something else I can do to thank you.” She lets go of my shirt and starts up the stairs. My gaze zeroes in on her perfect heart-shaped ass, and as I watch her climb, I’m pretty sure I know what she’s talking about.

“I’m going to need clarification.” Why the hell are you even asking that, dude . Just fucking go for it. “I mean, you just said it’s not payback when it’s mutually beneficial.”

“Mutually beneficial,” she mumbles. She stops, glances at me over her shoulder and gives me a grin full of promise. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

What the ever-loving hell is happening? I’m not sure, but I should leave, turn around and never come back because I know this is a bad idea.

Why then am I hurrying up the steps two at a fucking time?