Chapter 9

According to you I'm stupid, I'm useless
I can't do anything right
According to you I'm difficult, hard to please
Forever changing my mind

I'm a mess in a dress, can't show up on time
Even if it would save my life
According to you, according to you

But according to him I'm beautiful, incredible
He can't get me out of his head
According to him I'm funny, irresistible
Everything he ever wanted

Everything is opposite, I don't feel like stopping it
So baby tell me what I got to lose
He's into me for everything I'm not
According to you

(lyrics from ‘According to You’ by Orianthi)

She rolled over and felt the sun on her face. Opening one eye she watched the drapes float on the morning breeze. Breathing in a lungful of air she could almost taste the freshly mowed grass and warm scent of horseflesh. 

Home.

It was the first time she’d actually felt that way since she’d got back to town. Snuggling down beneath her comforter, she closed her eyes and listened to the birds, the sound of the tractor starting up and waited for the sounds and smell of her father making coffee downstairs. Instead she heard her phone vibrating across her nightstand. Chelsea reached out blindly and felt around until her hand closed over her phone and pulled it under the quilt and peered at it. 

Thought about you all night

She emitted a happy squeak and rolled over on her stomach. She didn’t remember exchanging digits with him but he had been playing Angry Birds on her iPhone when she’d gotten dressed. The goofy self portrait that was now in her contacts folder gave away the fact he’d entered his own which explained why he had hers.

Well I hope you got some sleep too she texted, adding a winky face in case he didn’t get that she was trying to be sarcastic. Her phone lit a few seconds later and she giggled at his reply.

Serious case of blue balls made that sort of difficult

Her fingers were poised above her phone, ready to text back a suggestion for relieving his problem himself when her phone vibrated in her hand.

Come out & play?? 

Chelsea rolled over on her back and contemplated playing coy, or hard to get or a combination of both but decided that she did want to see him again, and soon. 

When?Where?

She stared at her phone and waited for his response but none came. After a couple of minutes she put her phone aside and rolled over so that her back was facing it. She knew she was being childish by pouting but she’d got that rush of butterflies in her stomach and now it was gone. 

The sound of small pebbles hitting the hard wood floor of her room merely puzzled her at first. The muffled curse that followed as he no doubt realized that the window was open and that he might have hit her with a rock made her laugh. Throwing her quilt aside, she jumped out of the bed and went to the window. 

He was standing beneath her window in a pair of faded black jeans and snug fitting black t-shirt that emphasized the width of his chest not to mention his mile wide shoulders. He had a Yankees ball cap pulled low over his eyes so she couldn’t see them but his broad effervescent grin was crystal clear from her vantage point, two stories up. 

“I asked if you could come out. What are you waiting for?” 

“Do you want to tell a girl where she’s going so she knows what to wear?” she called down. He tilted his head to one side and she could see him squinting in the early morning light. 

“What you’re wearing looks pretty good to me,” he called back, his smile broadening as Chelsea glanced down, trying to remember what she’d worn to bed. It was just a slip and a short one at that, leaving almost everything bare. She felt a warm heat spreading through her entire body at the memory of his hands on her skin. Did he mean to just take her back to his place and have his wicked way with her? Did she mind if he did? “Just bring comfortable shoes and get down here,” he called as she took stock of her lack of clothes. 

She nodded and was about to pull her window shut when she caught sight of Jimmy coming out of the barn carrying a saddle. He stopped and looked, first at Mike and then up towards the house. She waved. He didn’t even nod, just turned and walked towards the ring. Chelsea watched him go, feeling her smile fading.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, not intentionally and not to be cruel. Seeing the blank expression on his face took some of the pleasure out of seeing Mike...but not all of it 

 ________________________________________________________

Mike stared down at his phone and cursed quietly. A large helping of bacon, eggs, pancakes and hash-browns had just been put down in front of him and now his agent was sending him the reminder of the radio interview at the local sports station. 

“I’m sorry, can we have this to go?” he said to the waitress before she had even settled the plate on the table in front of him. Her ‘happy to see you expression’ immediately changed into ‘I had better get a whopping big tip’ look. Chelsea’s eyes got wide over the slice of bagel she had just bitten into. “I completely forgot,” he explained, handing her his phone as proof, “this interview. I’m really, really sorry. I promise it won’t take long.” She looked at his phone as the waitress took her plate and Mike steeled himself for an angry barrage. After all, he’d gotten her out of bed and she was looking way to fly to deposit in the front waiting room of a radio station but she just shrugged, downed her coffee and said nothing. He couldn’t believe it. Some of the girls he’d dated and in no way seriously, had thrown downright hissy fits over less than this. Mike peeled off one more twenty than was strictly necessary as the waitress came back and as they stood, he couldn’t help but ask. “You’re pissed right? I mean you have a right to be but you are pissed at me right?”

“No,” she smiled as they fell into step. “Strictly speaking I should have made you wait while I mucked out stalls but...I didn’t want to do that in this,” she added, making the hem of her sundress swirl around her knees. He’d have liked it better if it had been shorter, but the way the sun was shining through it now made the light butter yellow fabric almost transparent and Mike decided that he liked it just fine as he stared hungrily at the shadow of her breasts. “But I am gonna eat this on the way,” she continued holding up the half of a bagel she hadn’t allowed the waitress to take. “Unless you’re gonna forbid me to in your fancy car,” she added as he stepped down off the curb beside the driver’s side door. Mike eyed the raspberry jam and cream cheese spread on the bagel and knew that even with his boys he had a rule about no food and drink in most of his vehicles but there was something about the way she licked her lips after she took a bite that was making saying no to her a lot more difficult. “What is with you and the fancy wheels anyway?” she asked as he thumbed the key fob to unlock the doors of the baby Escalade. 

“I like nice things,” he replied immediately without having to give it a second thought as he leaned on the roof of the lowered, fully pimped out black Cadillac SRX. “I like you don’t I?” 

“Wow,” she grinned across at him but not like she was basking in the glow of the compliment but more like she thought he was the biggest cheesehead she’d ever met. “Do you get all the girls with your smooth lines?”

“I got you,” he laughed, opening the door as she did the same on her side and sliding in behind the wheel. He put on his shades and then leaned across the centre consul for a kiss. She smiled at him and then stuck her finger in the jam and cream cheese and spread it across his lips instead. 

“That remains to be seen,” she told him and then settled back into her seat and bit into the bagel and chewed thoughtfully, staring straight ahead. 

He liked this girl. She had something different from the other girls he’d met recently. She had spunk, he decided as he turned the key and backed the car out of the parking lot. 

 ________________________________________________________________

She’d flipped through most of the magazines in the place and decided that someone seriously needed to speak to whoever ordered them. There was a good cross section of mens’ magazines like SI, GQ Esquire and of course every single solitary back issue of FHM and Maxim but there was not a single solitary issue of Instyle , Cosmo or Vogue, let alone Ladies Journal or anything else someone with a vagina would spend more than ten minutes looking at.

“Did you want to listen?” the receptionist, who hadn’t so much as popped her head above the desk that bore the call letters of the station was suddenly watching her with interest. 

“To...?” Chelsea reluctantly closed the copy of GQ she was holding with a sweaty Alex Skarsgard  on the cover and looked up curiously at the pixie-like face looking over at her. 

“Do you want to listen to the interview?” She thought for a moment, wondering if there’d be a lot of talk about a sport she didn’t know much about and then decided she did want to know more about him and nodded. The woman behind the desk smiled and then disappeared behind the large screen of her computer and suddenly Mike’s voice was filling the room. 

She could hear the smile in his voice, that playful tone that in turn made her smile. He talked about teammates whose names she didn’t recognize and games she’d never seen but she liked the laid back way he talked about everything. He didn’t sound self important, in fact most of the time he sounded downright self-conscious when the on air personalities played up his role on the team. 

“You two been dating long?” the young woman from behind the desk suddenly appeared in front of her with a can of diet Coke. Chelsea thought about asking if they had the real thing around anywhere but decided against it and took the can as she shook her head. “Ah...I see,” the woman raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips and suddenly Chelsea realized that she was being looked at differently. 

“We met in D.C.,” she said, sitting straighter and staring right back at the woman who then met her gaze with a slightly more respectful one of her own. Would he really have brought a girl here who he’d met at the bar the night before? Chelsea wondered as she took a sip of the cool, dark bubbly liquid. Not that she remembered many of the faces of his friends, who she now supposed might have been his teammates, but out of all of them she thought he was one of the least likely to be a player. He’d never seemed like one to her. 

 ______________________________________________________________

“So the ladies of Calgary want to know Mike,” one of the announcers asked as the interview wound down, “are ya seein’ anyone? Will we be seeing you at Cowboys?” Mike laughed and shook his head. 

“I’ve already been to Cowboys since I got back,” he told them and the two on air guys gave him the thumbs up like they were glad he was still the guy they’d expected, the guy voted most likely to take pictures of himself tanked with two hot blondes and post it to Twitter.  “And I’ve got a night planned at Vinyl soon, when some of my boys come in for the charity golf tournament and I’m sure I’ll see you all at Stampede,” he added, thinking about how good Chelsea had looked in her tight jeans and debating how hot she’d look with a Stetson on. 

“I noticed you dodged the first part of the question,” the guys laughed and Mike felt heat enter his cheeks. He hadn’t really dodged it, so much as ignored it. “That’s okay. We’ll let him get away with that won’t we? Don’t want to cramp a playah’s style.” Mike was already taking off the headphones and laughing nervously as he held his hand out to one of the two guys to shake. 

“No word about the hottie waiting outside for you Mike?” the other guy asked. Mike swivelled and stared at the heavy set man sitting behind the mic. He froze, his hand still held out to one of the two interviewers while he stared down the other one. It was like facing down two streaking forwards, only this time there was no goalie behind him and if he made the wrong decision they were going to get any empty net. Mike mulled over several answers, looking for one that would cause him the least amount of grief, from his agent, from his friends and most of all from Chelsea. 

“Do people use labels anymore?” he asked with a grin that was in no way real and was, in fact, a hell of a lot closer to baring his teeth like a junk yard dog. “She’s a beautiful girl and I’m going to leave it at that. Have a great day guys and I hope everyone comes out for the golf tournament, it’s for a great cause and I’m hoping we get some great weather for it.” Mike turned from the mic then, signalling that there would be no more questions and immediately started hoping that Chelsea hadn’t heard what he’d just said. 

He’d had girls get mental when he wouldn’t hold their hands in public or didn’t introduce them to his teammates as his girlfriend even if they’d only met the night before. When he pushed the door open to the lobby he found her rifling through a magazine and when she looked up at his approach, she greeted him with a smile. 

“Ready to go?” he asked holding out his hand to help her up out of the chair. She looked at his hand and then back up at him and tilted her head to one side. 

“That depends,” she began, a mischievous glint in her eyes. It was only as he started trying to anticipate her answer the way he would try to anticipate whether an opposing player was going to make a pass or a shot through the defensive zone that he realized that the he was hearing the voices of the guys who had just been interviewing him playing in the room. His gut twisted as he waited for her to tear him a new one for denying their relationship. “You’re supposed to ask what on,” she prompted him, giving his sneaker clad foot a shove with those strappy gold sandals that reminded him waaaay too much of that night in D.C.

“On?” he mumbled, doing his best Droopy imitation. 

“What’s the plan Stan? Where are we going?” she asked, laughing as she grabbed his hand and pulled herself up, planting her body near enough to his that he could feel the heat of her skin. 

“Oh that...yeah...I wondered if you’d help me do some shopping for some uh...new bedding and stuff,” he asked sheepishly. Her face lit up and she turned, heading for the door, practically dragging him behind her.

“I’m good at shopping. I hope you’ve got good credit.” 

 ______________________________________________________

She was piling bright green and blue coloured towels in his arms when the realization that she’d been the only one talking for the last half hour. As she put the next folded towel on top of the last one she’d piled into his arms, she pressed down until she could see his face. At best he looked distracted, at worst, upset. 

“Okay, I know men hate shopping but you’re the one who brought me here,” she pointed out, and, when she got no reaction Chelsea rolled her eyes and went back to picking out matching hand towels and wash cloths.

“No...uh thanks. I totally need the help,” he muttered in reply. ‘Well d’uh, you’re a man’ she thought as she grabbed a handful of washcloths in each colour and then turned to pile them on top of the growing pile in his arms, her full hand pausing as his gaze held hers and a gentle smirk tugged the corner of his mouth up at a crooked angle. 

“What?” she asked, her hand automatically going up to see if she had lipstick on her teeth or if it was smudged on the corner of her mouth. “Do I have a raspberry seed in my teeth or something?” 

“You’re really not bothered, are you?” he asked, his nose wrinkling and his eyes narrowing as he gazed steadily at her. Chelsea stared back at him, waiting for him to tell her what she was suppose to be bothered by, other than his sullen silence. Finally when his grin broadened, she dropped the washcloths on top of the pile and turned to walk towards the bathmats. She only made it a couple of steps when she felt his arms slide around her waist and the next thing she knew her feet were off of the ground and he was nuzzling her neck like a calf looking for a teat. 

“I...can’t...breathe,” she gasped, pushing down at his arms as they slid up her ribcage. He laughed and kissed her cheek before putting her down. “You’re weird,” she mumbled, trying very hard not to giggle as he held her against the width of his chest and nibbled on her ear like maybe it had suddenly turned into a cob of corn. 

“The boys are gonna loooove you,” he laughed, giving her ribs a crushing squeeze before he let her go and turned to scoop up the towels that he’d let drop to the floor. Chelsea turned and watched him, admiring the bootylicious angle as his jeans strained to contain what she knew to be solid muscle. 

“Boys?” she asked as he turned around. 

“Friends...teammates, whatever. Some guys I know are coming for this golf tournament and Stampede. You’re in right?” Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged. 

“I might have things to do, I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you,” she replied with a shrug. He only laughed, as if she’d just said something hilarious, and Chelsea quickly turned her back on him and headed back towards the bathmats so he wouldn’t see her smile. 

 ____________________________________________________________

“There,” she said, dropping the last freshly plumped pillow in place before standing back to survey her handiwork, “guest room number two officially ready for visitors.” Mike leaned in the doorway and nodding approvingly. 

“Looks much better than it would have if I’d picked everything out,” he agreed. She turned and gave him a quizzical look. “You didn’t think I decorated my digs in D.C. did you?” he asked, watching the truth of his words dawn on her. 

“Yeah, I guess I have seen you bedroom,” she smirked and at the mere mention of his bed, Mike felt his balls tighten. He’d been watching her in that sundress all day, the silhouette of her body teasing him every time she moved. He wanted to drag her to his bedroom now but he had something he wanted to do first. 

“C’mere,” he held out his hand and she slipped her smaller one into his. Mike led her into the kitchen and, still holding her hand, reached for the marker hanging from the small whiteboard he usually wrote his work-out schedule on and scribbled a message for her while she read over his shoulder. 

Will you be my girlfriend?

Underneath he drew two, not very straight, boxes and beside the first he wrote Yes and No beside the second. 

He heard her snort and before he could even hand her the marker, she reached around him and with her finger drew an ‘x’ through the yes box. Feeling on top of his game, Mike reached up redrew the yes box and wiped off the question and before writing another.

Can we have sex now?

Chapter 8

I need someone to stand by me
Stand by me, just one time.
I hope somebody stands by me
Stands by me, just one time
I don't understand, it's slipping through these hands
I think by now I know when to let go
All I know is here I am baby
Won't you stand by me?

(lyrics from ‘Someone Stand by Me’ Stevie Nicks)

She wasn’t surprised that he’d been willing to let her go, especially after she’d said she wanted to do this before she lost her nerve. What did surprise her was that he insisted on taking her himself and furthermore that when they’d headed back to the garage that he’d handed her a helmet. 

There was something in it, Chelsea decided as she tipped her head back and let the wind blast her face. Maybe he’d known it would help to clear her head or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to talk, but she decided she liked being on the back of a bike, liked having her arms around his strong solid core, even if it was only a moped. 

A fresh onset of giggling plagued her as she recalled the kicked puppy look he’d made when she’d laughed at his bright red scooter and the matching red scarf he’d tied around his neck as he settled himself on the front of the seat. He must have felt her laughter transferred from her chest to his back because he shook his head and, just for a second, he took one hand off of the handlebars and gave her hand that was resting in the middle of his chest a little squeeze. 

She was going to need more than that in a minute, she thought as she let go with one hand and pointed up a street that looked like it lead to nowhere. 

‘What are you doing?’ she asked herself as she saw the lights of her closest neighbor’s house speed by. Her pulse sped up as she thought about what was likely waiting for her up at the house. Jimmy was probably pacing. Her grandparents were probably worried sick. What she’d done was selfish, thoughtless and now she was going to go in there and tell them that the girl they all thought they knew...well, that they didn’t. 

She leaned her cheek against Mike’s back and seriously considered asking him to turn back. She could hide out at his place, it looked like it needed a woman’s touch and from what she’d seen of his fridge he looked like he needed someone to cook for him too. 

“Is this it?” Mike’s voice carried over his shoulder with the wind as he slowed at the pasture at the foot of the hill, where the big gate stood ajar as if they were expecting her. 

‘Of course they are’, she sighed as she reluctantly let go of him and reached for the strap on the helmet. She’d never stayed out a whole night in her life and despite the fact that it was already dark every light in the house was on and she had no doubt in her mind that the coffee was too. It was going to be a long walk to the house. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, his feet on the ground but the engine still running as he turned to watch her shake her hair out as she pulled off the helmet. 

“This...your my little pony bike doesn’t deserve the abuse of that road, for one thing,” she told him, climbing off the bike and handing him the helmet, “and you don’t need to protect me. I told you, he’s not gonna take a swing at me.” He actually managed to look hurt, even with the open face helmet pushing his slightly chubby cheeks in and making him look a little like Nemo, but with stubble. 

“You might need a ride somewhere...after,” he suggested. Chelsea reached out and traced the lines of the tattoo on his bicep as she shook her head. 

“They’re not gonna kick me out of my own house,” she sighed, her fingertips reading the word, Faith. Not the name of a girlfriend, but a mantra. She raised her gaze to meet his and he looked adorably confused. He’d obviously thought he was taking her to Jimmy’s and with the horses in the paddock having made their way to the fence to greet her, she could understand why. He opened his mouth to ask the question and she answered it before he had to. “He works for my family,” she shrugged and then leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth. “Thanks...for everything.” 

‘Go now before you lose your nerve’ she told herself as she clung to his scarf, pulling his lips harder against her own. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him, hard. His hair still smelled a little bit like a camp fire but the rest of him smelled like wind mixed with the warm musky scent of boy. 

She turned then, leaving him with her helmet in one hand and the brake and gas in the other. ‘Don’t look back’ she told herself as she kicked at a pebble and headed up the long, rutted drive. This had nothing to do with him. ‘Well not really’, she reminded herself. He’d certainly been the catalyst but the trip to D.C. had been the i.e.d. that had blown her safe little world apart. There was no need to rub Jimmy’s face in the fact that she wanted to be with another man. ‘And it doesn’t have to be him’ she told herself as she hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and then sent another pebble skidding across the dirt. She could be with fifty different men if she wanted to. 

‘Yeah right’ she grinned at herself, ‘as if now that you’ve been with two men you’re suddenly gonna turn into a whore’. That’s the way that Jimmy would see it, she knew with absolute certainly. ‘Which is why you’re not gonna tell him’ she told herself firmly as she glanced towards the barn. The light above the tack room was out, which meant that Jimmy was also waiting for her at the house. So much for having a quiet one on one conversation she thought glumly as she turned and headed up the last stretch of the drive, sending another pebble skipping across the dirt. She watched it disappear under her car and felt her heart stop beating. 

There was a long, black town car sitting right in front of the house and that could only mean one thing. 

Daddy’s home. 

Chelsea stood there staring at the long, low, black car with the limo tinted windows and swore. 

 “You comin’ in the house or are you gonna stand there all night?” Chelsea looked up to see her father standing in the doorway, the light from the house spilling around his tall frame. Suddenly she didn’t feel like the brave, independent woman. She felt like she was five, with Anne of Green Gables braids and a band-aid on her knee. 

“Comin’ daddy,” she sighed, kicking another pebble ferociously against the bottom step, listening to the sound of it thudding off the old, faded wood. That helped. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like it did. She took her thumbs out of her belt loops and suddenly her hand was in a warmer, bigger one. 

“I couldn’t let you do this alone.” She looked over at Mike and she was pretty sure her smile was brighter than the big old moon sitting low in the spring sky. The way he smiled encouragingly back at her filled her chest with the courage seeing that town car had stolen from her and the way he squeezed her hand as he took that first step up to the front door gave her the nerve to follow. 

________________________________________________________________

It was like walking into McPhee’s office and finding Boudreau, Leonsis and maybe worst of all Fishman. You knew you were fucked if legal was waiting behind that door. That’s what walking into Chelsea’s house felt like for Mike as he saw the older couple at the small table eyeing him with distaste that made him wish he’d done more than pull on a pair of tattered jeans and what he’d hoped, in the semi dark, was a clean white t-shirt. 

Jimmy sized him up from the couch where he sat, fuming as he stared at their joined hands. Mike did his best not to smirk but knew, when the tall, lean cowboy’s hands fisted, that he’d lost the battle. Seeing the tall blonde’s blue eyes flash murderously did help Mike to stand taller, straighter though and for that he was grateful as he turned his attention to the man in the slick grey pin striped suit.

This was exactly like facing Caps owner Leonsis and his legal Rottweiler, Fishman, across a desk. His gut twisted and his palms got sweaty. He wiped his free hand down the side of his jeans and sent an apologetic glance at Chelsea but her eyes were glued to her father. 

She was holding her chin high but he could see her bottom lip was beginning to quiver. He’d expected the tears to be for the dusty cowpoke in the corner. He’d obviously been wrong. 

“Jimmy says you came off a horse. I was supposed to stay in Ottawa for two days. I came all the way home. Where have you been?” Mike watched her nostrils flare and her usually pale, freckled cheeks suddenly bloomed with colour. She was fucking him, in his bed. It was his fault she hadn’t stayed at the hospital. His fault she hadn’t been home when her father got here. 

“She was with me...sir.” He caught her grateful glance out of the corner of his eye but Mike’s gaze was how meeting the furious glare of a very angry daddy bear and just like he knew not to look away when facing down an opposition forward on a breakaway, Mike didn’t so much as blink as Chelsea’s father stared him down. 

“And who, may I ask, are you? And why are you holding my daughter’s hand?” Mike hadn’t met the parents of a girlfriend in, well, maybe not since high school. Usually parents liked him. They took one look at him and thought, harmless. That had been before he’d been a professional hockey player. Now, he was pretty sure, most parents wouldn’t want him anywhere near their daughters and he didn’t blame them which is why he didn’t really ‘date’ much. He was trying to decide if this man might, however, prefer to know who he really was and that he had more to offer his daughter than a skinny guy in pale jeans who cleaned up horseshit for a living. 

“My name’s Mike Green. I met your daughter in D.C. I play for the Capitals there sir, but I live here in Calgary in the offseason.” He didn’t need to turn to look at her to know that Chelsea’s jaw had just dropped. He could practically hear it unhinge and couldn’t resist aiming a quick, smug grin at Jimmy who was looking at him like he was imagining taking him apart surgically and painfully. Mike’s chest swelled just a little. It was usually Ovie’s deal, getting under the opposition’s skin but right at this moment Mike knew why the great eight liked it so much. “I’m sorry you’ve all been worried but I can assure you, I’d never let anything happen to your daughter.” It was bullshit when it rolled off his tongue but when he turned to look at her, when he saw the gratitude and warmth in this leaf green eyes, he knew the only person he was bullshitting in this room was himself. 

 ‘You are sooooo fucked’. It was Brooksy’s voice in his head and he could see his friend’s shit eating grin so clearly it was as if the big shouldered forward was right in the room, laughing at him. He wanted to kiss her, right here, in front of her family. He wanted to pull her close and inhale the sweet, berry scent of her hair. He ran his thumb across the back of her knuckles instead and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze instead. Hop along Jim Bob must have seen it because he got to his feet with a sound of disgust and pushed past them, almost taking the screen door off of its hinges as he set it swinging. 

Chelsea turned to watch him go and Mike could feel the vibration all the way down her arm and into his hand and knew that she wanted to go after him and he got that same feeling he got sometimes right before he put a guy into the boards. Sometimes it was automatic, a way to get a guy off of the puck, but sometimes he wanted to hurt the guy. Right now he wanted to hurt that guy...a lot. 

“Leave him CeeCee. He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.” Mike glanced back at Chelsea’s father and immediately decided to like the man. “Well don’t just leave your young man standing there. Do you drink coffee or tea son?” 

____________________________________________________________

“That was...interesting,” Chelsea mused as she led Mike out onto the porch. She could feel the eyes of her entire family still on them as they stood under the porch light. They had said their good nights but she knew they wouldn’t be far away.

“Actually I thought it was kind of fun,” Mike replied as he swatted at a moth. Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed. “Well okay, just the part where Garth Brooks took off in a huff,” he added with a playful grin. That part, she thought, should be bothering her more than it was but as she gave him Mike a poke in the ribs she realized that she hadn’t thought about Jimmy at all since they’d joined her grandparents at the table and Mike had started telling them all about playing for the Caps and how, one day, he hoped to play for the Flames. 

“You handled them like a pro,” she added more quietly, sending a surreptitious glance over her shoulder. The house looked dark now, at least the front of the house did, but she had no doubt that there were still eyes on them. 

“They’re nice actually. Your grandpa’s a nut. I like him.” Mike gave her hand a squeeze and then tilted his head in the direction of the stairs. Chelsea nodded and followed him down the stairs. They walked down the pathway to the driveway, their joined hands swinging in the cool spring night air. 

“Well it explains your pad in D.C.,” she mused and he let out a bark of laughter. 

“I can’t believe all your theories on that.” She’d admitted to being there, just not when or why and had admitted that she hadn’t known that the place was his. Mike had snorted tea across the table when she’d expounded on her theory that she’d been brought to his father’s den of sin. “I’ll have to remember to tell my dad about that. My mom won’t like it but my dad will think it’s fucking hilarious,” he added with a low chuckle. 

“You didn’t have to do it,” she said as they walked past her father’s big dark car and headed alongside the upper paddock. 

“Well it was kind of my fault they were all worrying about where you were,” he reminded her. “Besides I’d have been kind of a dick to leave you to face the music alone,” he continued in an impish tone. Chelsea glanced over at him and found him looking at her, watching her. “I’m not sure with your old man there you’d have said anything to old hop a long,” he added, his gaze suddenly serious. She dropped her gaze from his and shrugged. He was probably right about that she admitted to herself and knew her body language said the same to him. “Having second thoughts?” he asked as they reached the end of the drive. She could see his moped sitting on its kickstand near the front gate. If he’d done that in D.C. it would have been gone or torched by now. 

‘Am I?’ she wondered as she listened to the sounds of crickets and the wind moving through the high grass. She felt bad if she’d hurt him, but she did feel like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Shaking her head, she turned to face him and offered Mike her other hand. 

“I guess that sort of depends,” she said quietly, moving closer to him, guiding one of his hands around her waist and letting go of the other so she could slide her hand up beneath his t-shirt, pressing her hand flat against his warm skin. 

“Oh yeah?” he replied, his tone low, voice husky, his lips so near to hers’. “On what?” She swayed against him, moving to a song that was playing in her head as she searched his face until her gaze focussed on his soft, pouting lips. 

“If you’ll be my boyfriend,” she asked in a playful whisper. His lips curled up into a smile and as her gaze flicked up to his he drew her against him and just before mouth captured hers, he laughed.