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Over the smells of burgers and fried food and pizza, I catch a whiff of Carter. Again, noticing this is not the scent he wore seven years ago. This scent is, dare I say it, cheaper. And yet on Carter, it is just as sexy and intoxicating as the more expensive cologne he used to wear. Carter himself is sexy and intoxicating… period. It feels so damn good to finally admit things like that to myself. Now I just need to be able to admit them to Carter, right?
“I wasn’t sure a Grizzlies jersey would be appropriate for being in the owner’s box.”
“Do you have a Grizzlies jersey?”
Carter presses a finger to his luscious lips. “Shhhh…no.”
We laugh together, and damn if that doesn’t feel fantastic. The weight has lifted from my shoulders. The fog of guilt and sadness that had taken up residence in my head is gone. Poof. Vanished. All because of the man I once blamed for all of it.
“So, I take it you approve.”
“Very much so,” I say. I approve of that ass in jeans too, I want to say… and out of them… even though I have never technically seen that ass out of clothing. Mostly I approve of having him here next to me in the place I have always been happiest—a hockey rink.
“Hey there,” Devyn says and reaches up to kiss Carter on the cheek. “It’s about time you showed up at a game.” She gives me a wink and touches my arm before she moves across the room to join her husbands.
I step away to retrieve bottled water for Carter and me. When I return, his attention remains on Devyn and the small group she had joined. Several members of the Olympic ski team are on hand at the invitation of Bryan and Chris. Former Olympians themselves they keep Olympic team members on constant rotation at games. An open invitation, it seems.
“This cologne, it’s not the same one you used to wear,” I say as I step closer to him. His eyes widen.
“Wow, you are correct,” Carter says. He turns to face me full on, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “You don’t like it?”
“Did I say that?”
“You didn’t say that you do.”
I shake my head at him. “It’s just very different.” I try to choose my words carefully. “It’s not what I would expect from you.”
He eyes me suspiciously, but the smile and gleam in his eye remain. He knows damn well what I’m trying to say.
“It was my dad’s,” he says.
My jaw drops.
“I found it at the house the week of the funeral, and I really wanted it. Mom didn’t mind, so I ditched my fancy scent that I’m impressed you remember, and started wearing this.”
I’m not sure how to tell him it’s not just the fancy scent that I remember. It’s the scent of him. It’s the scent that lingered on that necktie stuffed in the bottom of my drawer. The scent I tried so desperately to store in my memory to recall whenever I wanted. And this scent of him is equally intoxicating and turns me on every bit as much.
“Carter, I’m…I’m very sorry about your dad. I’m also sorry I didn’t attend the funeral.”
“I’m not,” he snaps. “I would not have been able to handle having you there. I wasn’t in any condition to deal with that. I know you did that for Brady, but I’m actually very grateful you didn’t show up.”
For Brady. Yep, keep telling yourself that. I did it for Brady. But I did it more because I couldn’t face Carter. Because I was a coward. To hear him say he’s grateful for my absence…that takes some of the sting away.
“Davis,” he says. “You need to stop. Stop beating yourself up about every little thing. Please, let’s keep moving forward.”
I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed watching a game so much. Having Carter sitting next to me. Sharing this with him. Laughing and smiling with him. It’s fun. And I do indeed feel happy.
It wasn’t the blocked puck that TJ took right in the kneecap, causing him to fall to the ice in a heap that had Brady and I racing down to the locker room. Damn, I’ve felt that pain too. It was the crosscheck to the back he took as he stood and tried to limp off the ice. A shot to the back. He wasn’t even near the puck. He wasn’t even trying to be part of the play anymore. One of the Dallas players still targeted him.
TJ stayed face down on the ice this time. Nic’s gloves hit the ice and the Dallas player never stood a chance.
As his teammates defended him, more Grizzlies jumped into the scrum before the refs finally broke it all up.
All seemed calm. TJ stood on his own and limped off the ice in pain. Coincidental minors for roughing were issued, but it was the instigating penalty doled out to Nic that set our head coach Logan Kessler off. Not just that, it was that the Dallas player wasn’t given a cross-checking penalty, or any penalty, of any kind for the inciting incident.
Logan is very much like Brady was as a coach. Very cool and calm under pressure, but he lost it. And pretty soon the ref had thrown him out of the game, too. Jesus, I hate this team. I looked toward Brady as I stood, and he motioned for me to follow.
“I’ll call you later,” I say and my lips barely brush Carter’s ear.
