The Girl With Hearts (Midtown Brotherhood #1) (7 page)

Chapter 9

LEILA’S INTERROGATION

Leila stood at the entrance to the living room, her plate of pizza in one hand and bottle of water in the other, staring at the scene in front of her. Henrik, who’d opted for just a pair of shorts when he changed out of his suit, was sprawled out in the middle of the couch, already enjoying his beer.

In a normal apartment, this wouldn’t be an issue, but Henrik and Austin’s place was the typical bachelor pad. Despite their hefty paychecks every month, they still had only one piece of furniture in the living room, and she was pretty sure that couch was the same one from their dorm room back in college. Not to mention the ping-pong table that doubled for a kitchen table. That was simply embarrassing.

“Why are you just standing there?” he asked, pointing at the TV. “Rachel is about to break up with Ross again.”

She cleared her throat, attempting not to look directly at him. “Could you, you know, choose an end of the couch?”

Henrik’s smirk made evident what she already suspected. His choice of seating had been strategic. “I don’t bite.” He grinned, patting the spot directly next to him.

She cocked a brow at him. “I’d have to disagree.”

He almost choked on his beer, covering his mouth as he coughed it down. “Yeah, I guess, technically, you’re right.”

She sauntered over and begrudgingly squeezed into the small space between him and the arm of the couch, making it a point not to come in contact with any part of his body. He was tempting enough without her reveling in the scorching thrill his touch would surely induce. He glanced over at her, displeasure apparent on his face. “What?” she inquired, leaning further into the couch.

He glanced at the bottle of water in her hand. “No beer?”

“I’d prefer if one of us keep our thought processes working appropriately.”

“Or what?” His crooked smile was unnerving, or maybe exhilarating. She couldn’t quite decide with her pulse thrumming so loudly in her head.

“Just enjoy your beer, Henrik.”

He turned back to his television show, though he continued to smirk as if he’d accomplished some unknown goal. If it was to have her crawling out of her own skin, he’d succeeded. She felt like a cat floating on a spindle. She would eventually crash and drown a very ghastly death.

She decided to just ignore him, or at least, she did her very best to ignore him. It was difficult, though, and the close proximity made it nearly impossible. Not to mention his lack of clothing, especially covering his arms. The intricate designs that laced down the one nearest her was practically calling her name. She forced her attention elsewhere. She couldn’t risk falling for Henrik’s tricks, and it wasn’t just because Drew had forbidden it.

She was tired. The game had taken more energy than she had to give, and now she was paying the price. A deep-rooted pain formed behind her eyes, a feeling that was growing all too familiar.

She set her plate of pizza on the floor by her feet and decided it would be best to just stick with the water. She leaned back into the couch and tried to pretend he hadn’t already scooted another inch in her direction.

They were halfway through their second show when he finally spoke up, breaking the lingering silence that buzzed between them. “You’re allowed to look,” he stated evenly, never taking his eyes off the TV. “You don’t need my permission, though when it comes to your eyes on my body, it’s safe to always assume you already have it.”

“What are you talking about?” she stuttered, acting as if she hadn’t been stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

He merely held out his arm in her direction. “Go ahead,” he assured her. “Ask me. I see it on your face, so go ahead and say it out loud.”

She started to deny it, his audacity bringing out her natural instinct to rebel against anything he suggested, even if he was right. However, her curiosity was bound and determined to eventually win this one. “Why? I mean, I’m not one to judge. I have tattoos, too. But why—”

“So many?” he finished for her.

She nodded.

“I started with this one,” he explained, pointing to the Swedish flag on his bicep. “I got it right after college when I went back there to play the summer before the draft.”

She slid her hands underneath her thighs to fight off the urge to place her fingers on it. “That means this one must have come next,” she guessed, trying to keep her attention focused. She admired the Fighting Sioux emblem that represented their college logo. “Austin has one too.”

“We got them together the night before the draft,” he explained. “We never thought we’d be on the same team again. He was a big baby about it, though. I swear he almost cried.”

“And this?” she asked, nodding toward the spiraling text that seemed to weave through the entire design, linking it all together. “What is it?” It wasn’t English, and Leila assumed it was some form of Swedish.

“Something my mother used to say,” he confirmed, but turned his arm over, moving on with no further explanation.

Drew always did that too. He never wanted to discuss Sweden or his parents.

“I got this one after I signed with New York,” he said changing the subject as he showcased the artwork along his forearm. “And I’m not really sure what this one means. I got it the same night I decided to stop drinking bourbon.”

She was laughing when her eyes met his, but his playful smile cut it short. He was doing it again. She’d always wondered how he kept a revolving door of women with his reputation, and she was slowly starting to understand. He was smoother with his game than she’d expected. Relaxed and playful. Never trying too hard, but always offering the perfect opportunity and inspiration to make the next the move.

“You have a blank spot,” she pointed out, bringing her hand up and purposefully touching the bare skin just under his wrist to demonstrate her willpower, even if it was only to herself. “Are you saving that for when you win the Stanley cup?”

“Something like that.”

His smile was infectious, and suddenly it grew quiet as they looked at each other, her fingers still on his skin. His eyes dropped to her lips, his own parting ever so slightly in response, and if she didn’t break the silence soon, she’d fall victim just like all the others. “You never answered my question, though,” she said softly, quickly removing her hand and looking away. “Why so many?”

Henrik, appearing unaffected by the entire exchange, shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It was his typical answer. She’d heard him give it a hundred times during interviews, not that she intentionally watched his interviews, but she’d catch one or two occasionally and not turn it off. The difference between her and the media was she knew he was lying. “I’m not a reporter, Henrik. You can tell me the truth.”

He looked over at her and then back to the television, indecision etched across his features. “People often think because of the way I live my life, I don’t care about anything.” He looked back at her. “And they’re probably right about some of it, but there are some things that mean a lot to me.”

She smiled, glancing back at the tattoos. “Like your mom and your friendship with Austin.”

“Yes, those are a couple things.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, chuckling, “but I don’t think you have to permanently tag yourself for people to notice the full on bromance you have with Austin. Trust me, the world knows.”

She couldn’t help but notice the intensity that rolled off him in waves before he shrugged and looked away. “Yeah, well, you asked.”

“I did, and thank you for being honest.”

He nodded, and again it fell silent. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were concentrating hard on whatever thoughts he was processing. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t ask the obvious question,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“About what?”

“The script.” He gestured toward the string of foreign words along his arm. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it translates to?”

This time it was her turn to shrug and appear disinterested. “I figured if you wanted everyone to know, you would have written it in English.”

“True,” he said, nodding, “but as I’ve pointed out on varying occasions—you are not everyone.”

She peered over at him in awe, trying to decipher his intentions. He could be lying. Just another strategy in his playbook. There was something about the tone he’d used, though, a sincerity that wasn’t usually there. She decided to risk it. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “What does it say in English?”

He started at the top of his arm, tracing the words downward as he spoke.

“My love is not fleeting, not a simple stirring in the soul, but rather a tidal wave, consuming only those who dare step in my path.”

Her brow rose in interest now. “Your mother said that?”

Again, he nodded. “The last time being the moment right before she put Drew and me on a plane to the U.S. It was the last time I saw her.”

The conversation hadn’t gone at all how she suspected. This was meaningful. This was real. Henrik offered her an opportunity, all right, but it wasn’t to his bed. “Drew doesn’t talk about her much,” she said evenly, testing the waters. “Actually, he avoids the topic entirely.”

“He is still a little bitter, and angry about the entire situation. I can’t blame him. He was younger than me. It was hard for him to understand what was going on.” He paused for a moment, and she knew he was deciding whether or not he wanted to continue. He looked at the floor, his features pale when he finally continued. “My mom was sick. She was very secretive about it. I still don’t know exactly what was wrong, just that she went to the doctor a lot, and eventually it got so bad that she lost her job. Seeing as how my no-account father had abandoned us years before, that meant we lost our house. We stayed in this crappy apartment above a grocery store that let her work part-time when she felt up to it, but it wasn’t enough.”

He took a deep breath, and she suspected, like Drew, this wasn’t a topic he spoke about often. “Eventually, I took it upon myself to quit hockey after school, and I got a job just so we could have food on the table. That’s when she bought the plane tickets.”

Her heart ached. It made sense now why Drew never wanted to talk about his life in Sweden. “Did she talk to you about it?”

“No.” His tone was stern now, tense. “I tried, God knows I did, but she continued to insist it was only for a visit. Just for the summer while school was out. Our uncle was a hockey coach, and he wanted us to come to a camp he was running.”

He looked back at her then, an expression she’d never witnessed before capturing his vibrant eyes, turning them a glossy ocean blue. “She sold our car to buy those tickets. I knew we weren’t coming back. Drew, on the other hand, he still had hope. She eventually stopped answering his calls, because he constantly wanted to go home. She told him he needed to stay here, to play hockey—have fun. It only made it worse.”

“That’s why Drew quit, isn’t it?” she asserted, trying to piece together the little information she already knew into the story.

“I think he thought if he quit hockey, then she’d let him come home.”

“When did you lose her?”

Henrik swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “She passed away my freshman year of college. Drew was devastated.”

“And you?”

She clamped her mouth shut, feeling horrible for having even thought the words. Of course he was devastated too. It was his mother.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It was different for me. I knew what was going on. Even though I didn’t agree with it, and I felt powerless, I understood she was just doing what was best for all of us. I had a lot of things to keep my mind busy. I had hockey, and Austin’s goofy ass dragging me out every night. More importantly, I had a little brother who needed me to at least act like I had my shit together.”

She wondered then if that had been the point all along. An explanation for his actions. His lifestyle choice—the bars, the women—it was all just one big distraction. Or maybe she gave him too much credit. It was possible he was simply a soulless horn dog. It was too soon to tell.

Chapter 10

LEILA’S UNEASE

The night eased on without a hitch. Being with Henrik was effortless. Easy. They laughed at the same stupid jokes, and got excited about the same ridiculous re-runs of their favorite shows. And Henrik kept talking. He talked about his career, what he’d do if he ever got his day with Stanley, and even about the harsh conversations with his coach about the trade rumors.

Henrik told her everything. He was honest and open.

It scared her.

She couldn’t be any of those things with him.

“I have to admit I’m impressed,” he said, leaning back to look at the clock.

Leila glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think our siblings would leave us alone this long?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “No. I’m actually kind of surprised.”

Henrik looked around the room, suspicious. “Austin must have the placed bugged.”

“I would be more worried about Drew.” She laughed. “He probably has a hidden camera somewhere.”

“Yeah,” he nodded solemnly, “that sounds like something that pain in the ass would do. I bet if I kissed you, they’d break the door down.”

She could imagine it perfectly. Henrik’s lips on her neck, brushing across her skin. “I guess your door is lucky you’re on good behavior.”

Henrik snorted before taking a sip of his beer. “Who said I was on good behavior?”

She shot him a glare. “Do you really want to prove your brother right?”

“He’s already right, or have you forgotten about that little visit to my hotel room?”

His smirk turned wicked, and she glared harder. Of course she hadn’t forgotten it. She just didn’t want to think about it, not with him sitting so close, and almost naked. The memories were too real. She straightened her shoulders, determined to end it now. “I think we can both agree our brothers need to remain clueless.”

“Obviously.” He nodded, looking around the room nervously, as if he were actually worried about Austin and Drew listening in. When his inspection was complete, he scooted down the couch. Way down the couch.

“What are you doing?” she practically blurted out, sinking into the corner.

“Asking you a question,” he said innocently.

“Does your mouth require your ass to be that close to me?”

He ignored her, his body sliding up next to her, invading her space. “My brother seems to think you’re all heartbroken about this Derek thing.”

“That isn’t a question,” she pointed out, crawling up the armrest.

It was suddenly hot. Unbearably hot.

“I have my reasons to believe you don’t really give a crap about your break-up.” He grinned. “Call it a hunch.”

“Henrik.” It was a warning.

“My brother thinks I need to leave you alone.”

“I’m still waiting on the question.”

“You know my question.”

And she did. That didn’t mean she would answer it. “I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble between you and our brothers.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” he finally asked.

“There doesn’t have to be a choice.” She sighed, avoiding the question. “We may not be friends, but I’m sure we can manage to co-exist enough to share Drew and Austin.”

Co-exist.

It was a thought she’d been contemplating a lot lately. The prospect of somehow living life alongside Henrik without actually being involved in his life. He was quick to catch her meaning.

“Wait a second.” He moved away from her, running his hand down his face in obvious frustration. “I understand we’ve had our issues in the past, but you just said that like we’re
never
going to be friends.”

Leila laughed, assuming he was making some kind of joke, but when he stood, his gaze glaring down at her, she realized he was actually pissed. “Henrik.” She paused, trying to find the right words to explain herself. “Let’s be honest with ourselves here. You don’t have friends of the female variety.”

“Says who?” he scoffed, offended.

“You have female friends?” She stood, taking a challenging position in front of him. It was time he put this ridiculous notion that they could be friends out of his head. It would only make things harder in the long run. “Ones you don’t have sex with?”

“Yes,” he stated assuredly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sex of any kind,” she added, mimicking his stance.

His eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You know, you’re awful judgmental for someone who showed up commando on my doorstep.”

She rolled her eyes at him, turning away to pick up her plate from the floor and take it to the kitchen. “I’m not judging you,” she announced over her shoulder. “You’re a grown man. If you want to whore yourself out to the entire city of New York, that’s your business. I’m just trying to be realistic, here. We are completely incompatible as friends.”

He was behind her, his heavy footsteps tracing hers. “If you didn’t want to be friends, why did you agree to hang out with me tonight?”

Her stomach cringed at the thought. She told herself it was her only excuse to get out of dinner, but it was more than that, even if she already pushed the notion out of her mind. “I just wanted a little peace and quiet,” she suggested.

“And you thought your best chance at peace and quiet was with me?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an arrogant asshole? Oh, wait—”

“Yes, I know. I got the memo. I get that I should have been paying closer attention to Drew, that I could have been a better teammate, and that I’ve shut everybody out. I’m working on it.”

“You’re working on it?” She laughed. “Is pissing Drew off part of your ‘be a better brother’ effort?”

“He doesn’t trust me.” His face strained when he spoke the words, his voice even in an attempt to hide the emotion his features couldn’t.

“So this being friends thing—it’s to prove a point to your brother?”

“No. If I wanted to prove a point, I’d just leave you the hell alone.”

“Then what is it?”

He stepped closer, leaning down so close his breath brushed across the tip of her nose. “That’s the thing, there is no point. I want to be friends, just to be friends. No ulterior motive, no hidden plot line. Just you and me—friends. It’s time we complete the whole Blakey-Rylander friendship circle we have going on.”

A part of her wanted his words to be true, but even if they were, she knew it would never work. “It’s too late for that,” she whispered, taking a step back.

He took a step forward, closing the distance and more. His hands rested on her hips. “Why?”

She very slowly reached up, taking hold of his arms and moved him backward. “Because you said yes.”

He raised his eyes in confusion, but there wasn’t enough time for him to question it, because his phone began to vibrate across the counter. She glanced over at it, a picture of a scantily clad woman popping on the screen.

The flash of jealousy that hit her system took her by surprise, and her face flushed with heat, similar to the way it had that first night when she’d stepped off the elevator and saw the half-dressed woman stalking away from his apartment.

“You have a phone call,” she announced through her teeth. “One of your other friends, I suppose.”

She had no right to feel jealous, and in fact, it made her mad at herself that she did. She had no claim on Henrik, and she didn’t want one. Except, as she glanced over at the flashing screen, she could feel her pulse begin to race with a territorial thud. This was exactly why they could never be friends.

His eyes flickered to the screen over his shoulder, and then back to her. “Answer it,” he challenged.

Her mouth dropped open. “I most certainly will not. I am not your pimp.”

The phone stopped buzzing, a voicemail popping up, but it didn’t dash the contempt she felt toward it. Henrik rolled his eyes. “You could have just said you had a problem with the women.”

“I do not have a problem,” she practically gasped. “I couldn’t care less what you do.”

“Yes, that scowl on your face really makes me believe you.”

She forced her features to fall flat, and as if he cued it, the phone began to ring again. Her gaze fell sideways to look at the screen.

It was the same woman. Again.

She was persistent, or a gold digging trollop. She was pretty sure she knew which as she glared over at the picture on the screen again.

“Go ahead,” he instructed, turning to stomp out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with the flashing phone. “Answer it. Answer all of them if that’s what it takes for you to drop this insane idea that we can’t be friends.”

She gritted her teeth, glancing back at the picture again. She blew out an annoyed breath before grabbing the phone and pushing the green button. He wasn’t serious. She knew Henrik too well. There was no way he would just let her answer all his calls and ruin his potential hookups. She’d take him up on his offer, he’d end up pissed off, and that would be the end of it.

“Hello,” she said simply, though it was loud enough that he would hear her in the next room. She hoped he was squirming in his seat.

It was silent on the other end for a moment before the female voice finally spoke up. “I’m sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

“Oh, no, sweetie. I’m pretty sure you have the right one.” Her voice sounded snarky because she meant it to be. If Henrik wanted to play games, then she would make sure she won. “You’ve called it twice in a row now. This is Henrik’s house of regret and self-loathing. I’m his new secretary. Can I make you an appointment? When’s the soonest you’d like to be disappointed and forgotten about?”

She could have sworn she heard him laugh in the next room, which only made her blood boil. He should be pissed that she called his bluff.

“Excuse me?” the woman sputtered, bringing her attention back to the phone. “Who the hell is this?”

She huffed, tugging at the end of one of her long curls. “Trust me. That’s a complicated question at the moment.”

“Is this Leila?” the woman inquired in a high-pitched, snippy tone.

She immediately narrowed her eyes as ice flooded her simmering veins. “How do you know my name?”

The woman let out a frustrated grunt and hung up. She sat there staring at the phone, confused.

She rounded the corner into the living room, her voice already rising an octave. “How did that woman know my name?” she demanded.

Henrik, who had returned to his seat on the couch, casually propped his feet up on the coffee table before shrugging. “That’s the kind of thing friends discuss.”

“Obviously, you do want to discuss it, or you wouldn’t have told me to answer it. Was that the woman from the elevator?”

He smirked. “Still upset about her, huh?”

“Henrik.”

“No, it’s not the girl from the elevator.” He grinned. “Though I suspect she isn’t very fond of you either.”

“How did she know my name?” she repeated, each word seething out between her clenched teeth.

This time when he smiled, it almost sent her over the edge.

“Tell me!” She threw his phone at him. “Or next time you can grow some balls and piss off your own mistakes.”

“Don’t get mad.” He laughed, noticeably turning his phone off and sticking it in his pocket. “There was a slight miscommunication during a late night call the other night.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It was three a.m. I was half asleep when I answered,” he explained further, as though it should be obvious, “and I thought she was you.”

She froze, her mouth suddenly dry. “Why would you think she was me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shrug it off. “I don’t know, because I was half asleep. That’s why.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Try again.”

“All she said was, ‘I really need you. Can I come over?’”

She scoffed, placing her hand on her hip. “And you thought that was me?”

“Wishful thinking?”

“This isn’t funny.”

He shot her that sorcerous smile that drove her crazy. “It kind of is.”

She was more determined than ever not to let him win. “No, it isn’t. That woman has feelings, and you just disappointed her—again, apparently. Does it even bother you?”

He shook his head, half laughing. “Okay, let me get this straight. First, you’re pissed that they call, and now you’re upset when I blow them off. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. That’s the point. I expect nothing from you.” She whirled around, acutely aware of the heat flooding her face, and her pulse racing. She’d let herself go too far, and she would surely pay the price for it later. She needed to leave before things got worse.