Worth the Fall (17 page)

***

Petey heard the garage door open, the car pull in and then the door go back down again. But no Alison appeared through the door. And he was sitting at the kitchen table facing it, waiting for her. After what seemed like an hour, he reached for his crutches to go check on her when the door finally opened and in she walked, bundled in that red coat. Jeans and Uggs sticking out beneath the hem.

Always tiny, she looked even smaller tonight as she unwrapped herself from her coat, scarf, gloves, and hat.

Her short hair followed the knit hat up with static, then finally fell into its slick, short ‘do.

He
’d been ready to spar, ready to pounce, but looking at her he felt that it’d be an unfair fight, like she had one hand tied behind her back.

The thought of binding her was a nice one, and something he
’d pull out later and fantasize about. For now though, he just softly said, “Did you eat any dinner?”

Her body relaxed a little and he realized she
’d been on guard, expecting him to spar.

She shook her head.
“No, not yet. I thought I might nuke some of your mom’s casserole. Can I get you some?”

“
No, thanks. My parents came over this afternoon bearing even more culinary delights.”

“
So you ate with them?”

“
Yep.”

She sat down at the table with him. Then she got back up and poured herself a glass of red wine. She motioned the glass to him, asking if he wanted any. He held up his beer bottle in answer. She sat back down and took a fairly large gulp from her glass.

“How’d that go? With your father, I mean.”

He let out the breath he hadn
’t realized he was holding. Good, they were going to do normal. He could do normal with her. It didn’t always have to be bob and weave.

“
Actually, not too bad. Darío had helped me this morning, so my dad didn’t have to, which probably helped. It was just a nice family dinner.” He paused and took a swig from his beer. “In which no one mentioned the word hockey.”

Alison laughed. She had the cutest little laugh, breathy and light, like it always surprised her when it came out and she had to suck it back in.

“How red did his face get, trying not to mention it?”

Ah, she knew his father well.

“On a scale from pink to crimson? I’d say fire-engine red.”

Another small laugh. The color was coming back into her face now and she looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time since she
’d walked in the door.

“
And the knee?” she asked, pointing to his leg propped up on one of the kitchen chairs.

“
Not too bad. If I keep it propped up, it just aches a little. Kind of a dull ache, but really not bad. The brace pinches a little bit when I stand for too long, so I don’t.”

Wow, that had felt good, to give a truly honest answer instead of the
“fine, fine, no problem” answer he’d given his parents, teammates, friends in Detroit, the media and the other gazillion callers he’d talked to throughout the day.

Even Al seemed surprised he
’d been so forthright. She drank some more wine, then proceeded to fix a plate for herself from the pan of lasagna his mother had left heating in the oven.

“
She made you a salad and put it in the fridge.” Alison nodded and got it out as well as a bottle of dressing. She went back to the oven and pulled out the tin foil bundle next to the pan.

“
Garlic bread?” she asked him even though she was already unwrapping it.

“
Yep.”

“
Mmm. God bless your mother,” she said, putting two slices on her plate, then wrapping up the bread and putting it on the counter. She put the metal lid on the baking pan and started to put the rest of the lasagna into the fridge, looking back at Petey before she did. “Sure you don’t want some more before I put it away?”

He shook his head and she turned back to her task, made harder by his mother
’s five bags of groceries that she’d brought with her today. And the case of beer his father had.

Alison had to bend over and lean in. Gazing at her ass in those jeans had Petey hoping she
’d never find room for the pan and have to stand like that all night.

Sadly, she finally found a spot, put the pan in, and brought her plate and salad bowl to the table, then topped off her wine glass.

“Ready for another?” she asked, indicating his beer.

He gulped down the last bit and nodded.
“If you don’t mind.”

She brought him a new bottle and took his old one, careful not to touch his hand.

She finally sat and started eating. Her moans at the good food had him fidgeting in his seat, which sent a shot of pain down his leg.

“
So, how was your day?” he asked. “No patients today?”

She shook her head, her mouth full. She eyed him suspiciously as she chewed and swallowed, as if her schedule was a state secret that had fallen into enemy hands.

“Lizzie mentioned you were taking on a lighter load right now because of your parents.”

She seemed to accept that. She wiped her mouth on her napkin, then placed it back in her lap. She took a sip of wine, her tongue reaching out to swipe a stray drop off her lip.

Jesus, she was killing him just by eating frickin’ lasagna and drinking wine.

“
My day. Let’s see. My day sucked,” she said.

“
Sorry to hear that.” She looked at him like there was some hidden jab coming. “Really,” he said and held his hands up in a surrender motion. “I’m sorry you had a sucky day.”

She leaned back in her chair, taking her glass of wine with her, arms crossed, measuring him with her eyes.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

Two simple words, and yet it felt to Petey as if the earth had shifted, and they were entering into another plane or something.

Yeah, maybe they were on another plane…adulthood.

She told him about her day as she finished eating and nearly finished the bottle of wine.

“And here I thought having some Spaniard standing and watching while I showered in case I fell was about as bad as it could get.”

She chuckled.
“Nope. I trump ya there, pal.”

She cleaned up after herself, putting her dishes in the dishwasher. She brought another beer and what remained of the wine to the table and sat back down.

He’d thought for sure she’d have retreated to her room by now or at least moved away from him into the living room.

But no, she stayed at the table. With him.

He reached out slowly across the small table and peeled her hand from around the stem of the wine glass and held it. Squeezing her fingers, he looked up and waited until she looked up, too.

“
Can we talk about last night?”

She didn
’t pull them away, but her fingers did clench a little in his.

“
I’m not sure there’s much to say,” she quietly said.

“
Oh, I think there’s a world to say. I think there’s eighteen years worth of things to say, but I’m willing to keep it to just last night.”

He took a swig of beer, giving her a moment to digest that, but still clung to her hand.

“What would you like to say?” she asked and then quickly added, “About last night.”

He entwined his fingers with hers, much like she
’d done last night. “I want to say that I meant what I said.”

“
Which part?”

“
All of it.”

“
That you’d chase me?” She pointed to his raised leg. “If your knee was better.”

“
I think we both know I was talking in the metaphorical sense, but yeah.” She raised her brows at him. “What? You didn’t think I’d know a big word like metaphorical.”

“
I meant it last night when I said it couldn’t happen again,” she said. But there was just…something in her voice.

“
And now?” he said, trying not to let the smidgen of hope he was feeling come through.

“
And now. Let’s just say I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today.”

“
Oh, Al. Baby, you do a lot of thinking
every
day.”

She ducked her head in a shy way, and he squeezed her hand. And holy shit, she squeezed back.
“But what were you thinking about today?”

“
Choices. Control. And how sick and tired I am of making choices lately.”

“
Your parents.”

She nodded, then continued,
“But more than that. I’ve been thinking about my relationships with men, too.”

He held his breath, not wanting to go all caveman with the surge of jealousy that pulsed through him.
“In what way?” he asked nonchalantly.

“
How I was never satisfied with them in bed.”

“
Umm…umm…I got nothing.”

She chuckled.
“I didn’t expect you to say anything to that. I’m just trying to tell you what state of mind I’m in right now.”

“
And what is that?”

She took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Her chest rose and fell, but he tried not to notice as he held her eyes.

“Like I said, I’m tired of making choices, of controlling things. I’m tired of not getting what I want out of a sexual relationship simply because I’m afraid to tell my partner what I need.”

“
And what do you need, Al?” he asked softly, leaning as far toward her as he could with his leg still in its brace. “Do you want to lose control?”

She shook her head just a tiny bit and leaned forward.
“No. I don’t want to
lose
control.” She waited and he held his breath not knowing, not daring to guess, where she was going.

“
I want to have my control
taken
.”

If you never change your mind, why have one?

~ Edward de Bono

Were the gods cutting him some slack? Was the universe making up for his career ending sooner than he’d planned?

Or did Alison Jukuri just tell him she wanted him to control her in bed?

Okay. Don’t freak out. And more importantly, don’t freak
her
out
.

He held her gaze and squeezed her hand again.
“So…you’re thinking not so much this…” He gently rubbed his thumb over hers—a soft caress, a whisper of a touch. Then he turned their hands so hers was against the table. He disengaged their fingers and slid his hand up her palm and to her wrist, which he then tightly encircled, pushing her hand further into the hard table. “As this…” he said, tightening his hold even more.

It was tiny. But oh, he heard the little gasp that left her mouth.

“Say it.”

She nodded.

“Say it,” he said more firmly.

“
Yes,” she whispered.

Excitement like he couldn
’t believe rushed through him. Fuck, it was better than stepping out onto the ice at the Joe to a packed house chanting his name.

She was breathing a little deeper now, her sweater rising and falling. Brown and fuzzy, the sweater looked like it would be incredible to touch.

He couldn’t wait until it was wadded up on the floor.

“
So…how do we…how does this work?” She looked away from him, embarrassed.

“
Don’t worry, Al, I’ve got it. I’ll get us through it. You won’t have to ask for a thing. But we should talk through a few ground rules, first.”

“
Ground rules? Like what?” Her eyes were huge and the exact shade of brown as her sweater. Puzzlement and a bit of anticipation came through in both her voice and body language as she leaned closer.

He also noticed that she hadn
’t made a move to loosen her hand from his grip.

“
Like what…acts…are on the table. Like choosing a safe word. Stuff like that.”

“
So, you do this a lot?”

He thought that might kill the deal. That she would be turned off by the thought. But nope, she was genuinely curious.

“Not a lot, no. But, come on Al, you don’t become a defenseman in the NHL without wanting to dominate.”

She smiled at that and then looked as if she
’d done something wrong. He jostled her leg under the table with his good leg. “Hey, this can be fun, too. We can enjoy it and laugh and it can still be intense.” She nodded. “We can make this up as we go, Al, now that I know what you want.”