Last night he'd taken a cab to Lauren's place after losing a big game. Then he'd proceeded to admit that he didn't have a clue what to say to his own kid. Yet Lauren didn't pander or praise him. Neither did she judge him. She just held him instead.
Slowly, he dragged his fingertips between her hip bones, discovering that she was not wearing panties. This revelation caused him to let out a shameless little moan, and he wasn't even embarrassed.
"Everything okay back there?" she asked sleepily.
"Mmm-hmm." He skimmed his fingertips down over her mound, through the tiny V of silky hairs she had there.
She shivered, yet didn't open her legs for him. So he teased this little patch of loveliness, and her thighs, too. It was a privilege to wake up beside her. A year from now he knew they'd wake up every morning in a bed together. He was sure of it, even if the details weren't worked out yet, and even though he wasn't allowed to speculate.
Lauren had said last night that everything was complicated. But that was only on the surface. It was pretty damn simple how much he loved her, and how much they needed each other. Their complications would be dealt with one at a time. Somehow.
Beacon pushed the hair off Lauren's neck and began kissing her there. She shivered, her body arching against his. "I have to go to work," she whispered.
"I know. But I have a little work to do, first. Won't take long at all." He slipped his hand between her thighs and was greeted by slickness and soft warmth. "Aw, yeah. Roll over, baby."
Instead of rolling toward him, she tipped the other way, onto her stomach. She spread her legs and arms, relaxing into the pillow, just waiting for him.
Unngh. He ran a hand down her body slowly, from the nape of her creamy neck, down her back, over her sweet ass. "That's my girl," he said, his voice raspy with desire. He maneuvered until he could kneel between her spread legs and touch her again. She jumped when his fingertips made contact with her pussy. "Lift your hips," he ordered, and that beautiful body lifted in invitation half a second later.
Yes, yes, he chanted as he slid inside her perfect, tight heat. Beneath him, Lauren pushed her face into the pillow and whimpered.
He planted his elbows on either side of her body so he could whisper in her ear while he pumped his hips slowly. "Thank you," he panted. "Needed you last night, and you let me stay. Hell. Need you every night."
With a deep moan she pushed back against him.
"That's it," he said, snaking one hand underneath her body. "Take what you need from me." He stroked her clumsily, his heart rate ratcheting up as she let out a throaty sigh.
"Harder," she demanded, and he almost came on the spot.
Gritting his teeth, he gave it to her the best he could. He remembered all too well the last time they did this, and it was sexy as hell. She might already be carrying his child. The idea made his heart so full he couldn't take it any longer. He came with a shout, curling over her body and shuddering through it. She followed him over the edge, gasping and pulsing beneath him.
"Jeez," she breathed. "Good morning to me."
He grinned. Who could blame him?
"Up," she said, reaching a clumsy hand around to smack his thigh. "I have to shower."
"Can I come, too?"
"Sure, but you have to be good."
"Baby, I'm always good."
"You're cheesy."
"I'm just honest."
They showered, and he behaved himself. Mostly. When she shut off the taps he pressed her against the tiles and kissed her one more time. For luck. "I'll think of you all day."
"Me, too, you," she whispered. "In fact, I'll be feeling you all day long. You're cute, but you leave your mark."
His inner caveman needed one more kiss. "That might have been two days' worth," he murmured against her lips.
"Good to know."
• • •
They left Lauren's building together, parting on the street, each of them heading for different subway trains. He needed the number two train to Clark Street in Brooklyn, and rush hour traffic would make a cab ride miserable. In this fashion he discovered how miserable the commute was from the East 30s to Brooklyn.
The timeline for moving Lauren into his house on Willow Street moved up another month for every midtown block he walked. When he finally reached home, he put the key in the lock and opened the door, whistling.
Only to find Elsa staring at him from the sofa.
"Why aren't you at school?" was the first stupid thing that popped into his head.
Her eyebrows lifted, and her look of disapproval was so much like Shelly's that it wasn't even funny. "Teacher-in-service day," she said slowly.
"Oh." Hans had probably put it on his calendar, but he'd forgotten to check. He dropped his gym bag on the floor where it landed with a thunk that sounded deafening in all the silence between them.
"I thought you were upstairs, sleeping in," she said.
That's what I wanted you to think. "Where's Hans?"
"Skyping with his mom upstairs. Why are you wearing last night's clothes?"
Mike took off his jacket and hung it on the doorknob of the little coat closet. Then, having no further busy work for his hands, he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Elsa. "I was at Lauren's," he admitted. He knew this conversation was a can of worms, but lying wasn't a good option. Elsa wasn't stupid, and it set a horrible example.
"All night?" Her eyes narrowed.
"Yes." Kill me already. Maybe lying would have been the way to go after all.
"Is that going to happen a lot?"
Oof. He had to think carefully about his answer. But it was tricky to be honest without allowing the conversation to veer into topics too personal for discussion. "I'm going to see a lot more of Lauren. But I haven't figured out how that's going to work yet." And wasn't that the truth.
"Are you going to get married?" Elsa's voice was as sharp as her questions.
"I really don't know." But I like the sound of that.
"You shouldn't," Elsa said quickly. "It's too soon."
"Honey," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He checked her face, which was half grumpy and half scared.
"Uh-huh," she croaked. "That's a funny thing to say when you've been out all night."
Fuck. Elsa: 1, Daddy: 0. "You know what I mean. If I do marry Lauren someday, she will live here. I wouldn't have to go somewhere else to see her."
Elsa made an anguished noise that doubled his blood pressure. He'd thought he could ease her into the idea. Then he got caught doing the walk of shame. But it didn't even matter, because any mention of Lauren at all turned his daughter into a rabid cat.
"Look," he said, and then realized he had no idea what to say next. "Your mother and I . . ." didn't love each other. That wasn't the right thing to say, because Elsa didn't care. She just wanted her family back the way she remembered it best. "Lauren has been important to me for a long time," he said instead. "And you've been important to me for even longer. I love both of you. I'm going to take care of both of you the best way I know how."
His daughter's eyes reddened, and he braced himself for an outburst. But it didn't come. She lifted her chin and stood, her posture regal. Then she carried herself up the stairs to her room, where he heard the door click shut.
He let out a heavy breath. That could have gone worse, he reminded himself. But it hadn't gone well. Baby steps, right? He was a patient man. All top-notch goalies were. He would wait Elsa out, and tell her he loved her at every opportunity.
She'd believe him, eventually, because it was the truth.
• • •
The next four days were shitty, and it had nothing to do with the women in his life.
He had a terrible game five in Detroit, letting in goals he should have saved. They could have clinched the series that night if he hadn't been off his game. Off nights happened, it was a known fact. But his timing was spectacularly bad.
Going into game six the series was 3 – 2, which wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for those two back-to-back losses. The team had squandered all the momentum they'd built up early in the series.
Back in Brooklyn, the dressing room was quiet before the game. Too quiet. "Let's make some noise out there," Doulie said, walking around the oval to give every one of his guys a slap on the back. "We can get this done tonight."