Offside (12 page)

“Two stores,” he corrected her with a
smile. “And he’s still waiting for one of us to step up to take
over running them.”

“He must be ready to
retire.”

“He’s sixty-eight. Past retirement
age, but he loves what he does. I don’t know what else he’d do. He
even still coaches minor hockey in the winter.”

“God! Kids must love having him for a
coach! Four sons in the NHL.”

“There are only actually two of us
now,” he said. “Logan and me.”

“Right. I watch Jason on TV sometimes.
When I watch hockey. Which isn’t very often.”

He eyed her. “You don’t like
hockey?”

“Not really.”

“Shuddup,” he said mildly. “How can
that be?”

She grinned. “Sorry. The hockey gene
missed me.”

“Maybe you could learn to like
it.”

“Maybe I could. But why?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I just
don’t get it.”

“You love hockey.”

“Uh…
yeah
. But you work for the
team.”

“Not the team exactly. For the
foundation.”

“Whatever. How can you do that if you
don’t like hockey?”

“It’s not that I hate it. I can watch
a game. I can promote the sport. It’s just…oh hell. Probably the
only reason I don’t like it is because it was a small form of
rebellion against my parents.”

He shot her a sideways glance as he
slowed for a red light. “Ah yes. Rebellion.”

For a moment they both fell silent. He
was probably thinking about the same things she was—namely all her
stupid rebellious stunts. “I’m not proud of some of the things I
did,” she finally said in a quiet voice.

“What’s done is done,” he said with a
shrug.

She blinked at him from behind her big
sunglasses. Yeah. She’d been working on that kind of attitude for
years now. It was easy to beat herself up over and over again for
the mistakes she’d made. Therapy had helped somewhat, but she
sometimes fell back into that hole. She nodded. “Yeah.”

Matt parked in a lot near the beach
and they walked to a shop that rented bikes.

“They rent skates too,” Matt said with
a wicked little smile at her. “Maybe we should roller
blade.”

She gave him a look, raised eyebrows,
pursed lips, and he laughed.

With helmets on, they soon set off
along the paved path that crossed the expanse of pale sand. Lots of
others were out walking, running, cycling, and they steered around
them. They passed tall skinny palm trees and farther on short,
stubbier ones. The sun shone brightly, but a brisk wind kept the
air cooler, especially nearer the ocean. Honey cycled along behind
Matt, who was no doubt keeping a slower pace for her, admiring not
only the view of the man in front of her and his ass on the bike
seat, but the ocean on their right, sparkling in the sun. The
bright light and scenery and using her muscles created a lovely
feeling of being at peace. Happy. She couldn’t help but smile as
they cycled farther, Matt occasionally dropping back to ride beside
her and point out sights.

The path was so smooth and Matt was
moving faster, so she put some weight into her pedals to keep up
with him, her thigh muscles developing a pleasant burn. And she
laughed out loud.

They slowed their pace to watch a
couple of guys in wetsuits surfing. Sandpipers ran back and forth
in front of the waves as they rolled onto the flat, wet
sand.

They continued on to Venice Beach,
with more palm trees, more surfers and lots of people. They passed
buskers and mimes and a woman skated past them from the other
direction who looked exactly like Dolly Parton, in a pair of short
pink shorts and tiny tank top that showed off ginormous hooters,
blonde hair out to there. Matt paused to look at Honey and they
both burst out laughing.

Then they continued on to Marina del
Rey with all the gleaming yachts in the harbor, circling around
them, then stopping at a little restaurant right on the water. They
sat out on the patio eating clubhouse sandwiches and curly fries.
When Honey couldn’t finish the second half of her sandwich, Matt
enthusiastically took it from her and devoured it.

“God, the way you eat,” she said,
smiling.

He eyed her. “You don’t look like you
need to watch what you eat.”

His appreciative gaze made her feel
warm. It was true that she’d inherited a good metabolism from both
her mother and her father. “I should eat healthier,” she confessed.
“More veggies. Living alone means I often don’t feel like cooking a
big meal.”

“Yeah, know the feeling,” he agreed.
“One of my buddies—he plays for the team too, Chris Dobie—is health
nut, so he’s always giving me nutritional advice. Gotta eat
healthy.”

Honey dipped a curly fry into ketchup
and popped it into her mouth. “Okay. Starting Monday.”

They shared a smile.

“Doing okay on the bike?” he
asked.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Want to ride farther, or turn around
and go back?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m good to
keep going. I might not be able to walk tomorrow…”

“I have a hot tub at my apartment,” he
said. “We should hit it after this. That’ll help your sore
muscles.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing
suit.”

He grinned.

“Don’t even say it. And don’t remind
me that I’ve done it before.”

Yes, there were photographs to prove
it —she and three guys in a pool at the house of famous actor who
would remain nameless, in the water, but clearly she’d been
topless. Those images had been all over the internet back a few
years.

His smile disappeared and his eyebrows
drew together above his nose. He made a small noise like a
grunt.

She looked down at her plate. “Sorry,
Matt. I can’t change the past.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “You think I
don’t know that? Fuck, if I could change the past I wouldn’t have
spent weeks in the hospital and months in rehab.”

She lifted her gaze. “That wasn’t your
fault.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We don’t
get do overs, no matter whose fault it is. People make mistakes.
Shit happens. It’s how you deal with it that matters.”

She nodded slowly. Once again, his
lack of judgment baffled her. She wasn’t used to that. She’d grown
up constantly not living up to expectations and being punished for
that.

“And I’d say from the looks of things
that you’re dealing with it pretty well,” he added.

She experienced a funny ache in her
chest and pressed her lips together. “Thanks. I’m
trying.”

“And it’s not like I haven’t done
crazy shit in the past too,” he added.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “But when the
media got hold of your crazy shit, they made you out to be a stud,
whereas I was made out to be a slut.”

He stared at her. “Fuck. You are so
right. That is not fucking fair.”

She looked at him, all big and
gorgeous with his boyish smile and tousled hair, not judging her
and saying things like “what’s done is done” and “that is not
fucking fair” and making her feel so good about herself. Something
inside her melted and cracked, like a hard shell breaking open and
warm softness spreading through her body. And she found herself
experiencing an overwhelming urge to hurl herself into his arms and
kiss him all over his face and hang on to him with everything she
had.

She inhaled a long, shaky
breath.

“We’ll stop and buy you a swimsuit,”
he said, setting his empty drink up on the table. “Let’s
go.”

She gaped at him as she followed him
off the patio. Was he serious?

Once more mounted on the bicycles,
they pedaled on. Manhattan Beach and Hermosa Beach had a cozy feel
despite the pricey ocean-side homes. People played volleyball on
the beach and they took another break to stop and sit on a bench to
look out at the ocean.

“Is this fun for you?” she asked Matt,
leaning back on the bench. The sun warmed her face
deliciously.

“Yeah.” He turned to look at her, his
eyes hidden behind sunglasses as were hers. Their helmets sat on
the bench beside them. “Not you?”

“No! I mean, yeah, it is fun.
Strangely. I feel really…relaxed. Tired, but good.”

Also intensely aware of him sitting
beside her, one of his arms along the back of the bench behind her,
his long muscular legs in faded blue jeans stretched out in front
of him, crossed at the ankles.

She’d asked for low-key, and this was
perfect. Scenarios of him being mobbed by paparazzi or eager fans
had formed in her head, and she’d envisioned how unpleasant things
could get if people recognized her, with him.

“I guess this isn’t like going to a
big party at some Beverly Hills mansion, or a Hollywood club,” he
said.

“No,” she agreed. “And that’s just
fine with me. I’m not sure why I even found that fun, back when I
used to do those things.” The meaningless frantic pace of one party
after another, all of them blurring together into a fog of alcohol
and drugs and music and faces that she could barely remember. She’d
laughed and danced and now she couldn’t even remember what was so
funny or who she’d been with some nights. “I was wondering if
that’s the kind of fun you like to have these days. Rich, famous,
handsome young hockey player.”

He snorted. “I’ve done it,” he said.
“Won’t deny that. I like going out and having fun as much as the
next guy. But since my injury, that kinda lost its
appeal.”

“When do you think you’ll get to play
again?” she asked.

His lips pursed. “I’m hoping Tuesday
night’s game. I guess we’ll see how Monday’s practice
goes.”

She nodded. “That would be
great.”

“Fuck yeah.” He sighed. “I feel like
I’m ready.”

“Then you probably are. You’re the
best judge, right?”

He grimaced. “I don’t know. They keep
telling me not to push it too fast. It’s possible I’m a little
impatient.”

“No!”

He slanted her a crooked
smile.

“Hockey players are crazy,” she said.
“You think you’re so tough. Didn’t you play with a broken finger
once?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It was taped up.
It was the playoffs.”

“And I seem to remember once you were
playing with a cut on your head that was gushing blood and needed
stitches.”

“They put a butterfly tape on it and
it was fine until the game was over.”

She eyed the small scar just above his
right eyebrow. “My brother played with a broken bone in his foot,”
she shared. “Idiot.”

He laughed.

They sat a while longer, chatting
about nothing much, admiring the vast blue view in front of them,
sunlight glinting off waves, foamy whitecaps crawling onto shore.
Eventually, Honey said, “We should probably get moving or I might
never be able to get up off this bench.”

“You got it.”

When she stood it wasn’t as bad as
she’d expected. They climbed back onto their bikes and fastened
their helmets and cycled back toward Santa Monica, experiencing the
earlier ride in reverse. The sun was lower now as they approached
the sphere of the Ferris wheel at the pier.

When they’d returned the bikes, Matt
started guiding her in the opposite direction of the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To buy you a swimsuit.”

“Oh my god. Really?”

“Yeah. Really. It’ll be good for you
after all the riding. I’m also really good at massage.”

The idea of his big hands on her naked
body massaging her made her belly swoop. “I don’t know, Matt…I
should go home…”

Her protest was half-hearted and he
knew it.

“We’ll go back to my place and order
in some dinner,” he said. “Keep it low-key, right? A little time in
the hot tub, a glass of wine, maybe some seafood…sounds pretty good
to me.”

It sounded frackin’
awesome.

But also frackin’
dangerous.

Chapter Nine

Matt was ninety-nine percent sure
there was a little shop across the street that sold souvenirs and
beach crap, hopefully including miniscule bikinis. Now he had that
idea in his head—Honey in the hot tub mostly naked, all mellow and
warm—he was determined to make it happen. But as they passed by a
liquor store, he stopped and made a sharp turn. “Wine,” he muttered
to her. “Unless you want to drink beer.”

“I hate beer.”

“I know.”

He did know. It was weird, that he
knew things about her. Despite all the years that had passed. He
knew she hated beer and cucumbers and the smell of bananas. She
loved shrimp and Kahlua and any kind of cake but especially
chocolate. Her favorite color was pink and she hated plastic purses
and wedge shoes.

She chose a bottle of wine and he paid
for it over her protests. Christ. He had more money than he knew
what to do with, he could afford a fucking twenty-dollar bottle of
wine. Then he led the way to the next shop where they found a
selection of bikinis. Since he knew she liked pink, his eyes went
right away to a pink suit on a hanger.
Please let it be her
size.
Except he had no clue what size she was. His gaze moved
back to her as he held it up, then he squinted at it.