Just This Once by Evelyn Jeannie Hall

Seventeen

JUNE

Get it,” Zane jumped to his feet and shouted at the top of his voice, his eyes following the puck as the players in the red and white jerseys swept it across the ice, capitalizing on their power play. His body felt like a jack in the box that hadn’t been cranked quite enough yet. “Get it… SCORE!” The lamp lit for the visiting team, eliciting a deep moan of disappointment from most of the fans in the stadium, but Zane had both hands high in the air hollering his head off.

The best part? So was Lacey.

“Woohoo, go Red Ones!”

“Red Wings,” he corrected her, diverted momentarily from the action by how her breasts bounced under the tight-fitting jersey he’d bought her as she bounded so enthusiastically up and down.

She was wearing jeans with flowers embroidered down the leg that hugged her shape like they’d been painted on, and the combination was… damn. For the first time in living memory, his attention had been split between his favorite hockey team and something—anything—else. And these were the fucking playoffs.

Of course, Lacey Farrell wasn’t just anything or anyone.

She was sunshine and tenaciousness and everything good in this world. She was up for pretty much anything, had a bright and bold personality, and cursed like a sailor. She was more passionate than any woman he knew, naturally stunning without a speck of makeup, and there for him whenever he needed a lay or someone to listen. Somehow over these past few months, she’d become his friend, his lover, and damn near vital to his existence.

And even when she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, like now, she remained enthusiastic about it.

“You know, I’ve never been into sports much, but this is fun.” Her smile split her visage in two.

“Told you it would be.” He tore his gaze away from her and back to the game. One of the New York forwards tried to fake out one of the Detroit defensemen by sliding the puck right between his legs, but the player in question, a guy named Daley, caught on before he could get away with it and provided a perfect block. “No deke today, deadbeats.”

“What’s a deke?” Lacey asked him, and he turned his mouth towards her while keeping his eyes glued to the gleaming white surface of the rink.

“A deke is a fake out, when a player looks like he’s going to go left but goes right instead, that sort of thing. Earlier Detroit had a power play because one of the Rangers was in the penalty box, so the Red Wings had the advantage of having an extra player on the ice. And lighting the lamp means scoring a goal.”

“Deke, power play, lighting the lamp. Got it.”

He knew she did. She’d aced her economics course and was currently carrying a 3.5 GPA. Even without peering at her, he felt this growing sense of contentment. No woman he’d ever gone out with had been interested in attending hockey games with him, though back in college a couple of them had, acting bored the whole time. He’d even had to talk Benjamin into going at first, though he was a full-fledged fan now. But Lacey seemed genuinely involved in this. She wasn’t pretending or being the dutiful date. She was truly enjoying herself.

They’d long since become comfortable enough with each other to not put on any sort of façade, as evidenced by how she’d trooped out of the Paleo restaurant, patting her flat stomach. They’d had a late eight-thirty dinner an hour and a half ago.

“Oh, God. Shouldn’t have had that vegan ice cream.”

“Too much?” he’d asked her.

“Yep.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, and while he didn’t hear anything, he felt fairly certain she’d just burped. “Should’ve stopped when I was ahead. I keep tasting coconut even though it was supposed to be chocolate.”

“Me, too. What’s that all about?”

“I don’t know. But I think I’ll stick to Ben and Jerry’s from now on.”

Still, at the first intermission when he offered to go get some nachos and beer, she accepted. He’d just been making his way back to her following a pair of men who were clearly three sheets to the wind.

“You get a load of that one there,” one guy slurred, “She’s smokin’.”

“I’d like to rub my hands up and down all those flowers of hers,” seconded the guy he was with, and at that strikingly specific description, Zane glanced up. Sure enough, they were describing Lacey, who was stretching her arms over her head as she cheered at the show the mascots were putting on, making her top expose her delectable abdomen.

They’re drunkand mouthing off, nothing more, he reminded himself, knowing those two bozos weren’t sitting anywhere near he and Lacey. Emotions tended to run high at hockey games, and more than once, fights on the ice had escalated into fights in the stands, as well. But Zane considered himself more evolved than that. Most of the time, anyway.

Yet as he wended his way back to his seat, he found Fuckwad Number One plopping himself next to Lacey as bold as brass.

“Hey sweetheart, wanna come home with us?” he blustered so loud Zane could hear him. “Billy and I would love to be your tag team.”

Zane stomped down the steps, nudging past a slow-moving group.

Fuckwad Number Two leaned in next, whispering something Zane couldn’t make out into her ear. He didn’t know what the guy had said, but based on her disgusted expression, he’d just crossed a line. And Zane had already been pissed the hell off.

“Get away from her,” Zane growled out with enough volume to be heard over the crowd as he arrived at their seats.

“They were just leaving,” Lacey stood, assuming the hands-on-hips stance many women used to show their displeasure.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Fuckwad One started in again, but Zane was done.

Handing over the single longneck and bowl of nachos he’d bought for them to share, he seized the guy by the front of his shirt. It was a Mets t-shirt—had these morons been so toasted they thought they’d gone to a baseball game?—and Zane jerked him from his seat by the collar. Once he had the guy back on his feet, he realized the bastard was about the same size he was. Since he had his buddy with him, that made it two against one.

Zane had been up against worse odds before. Once, after an MMA tournament match, one of his opponents hadn’t liked that he’d been bested and had appeared with two of his cronies in the locker room. Zane had left that locker room battered and bloodied, but he’d still succeeded in whooping all their asses.

“You guys never learn that no means no?” Zane brought Fuckwad One in close so that he could utilize several different moves if necessary while keeping his eye on Fuckwad Two.

“It ain’t like that,” Number One complained.

“Nah, man. Don’t overreact,” came Number Two’s input.

“Then, if you two know what’s good for you, you’ll leave like the lady said.”

“Fine, fine. We’re going. We’re going.”

Zane released Fuckwad One just as Lacey shrieked, “Zane!”

He dodged, narrowly missing getting sucker punched by Number Two. Moving fast, Zane shifted out of the way and banged the two Fuckwad’s heads together, dazing them both.

“There a problem here?” a man wearing a security badge asked, appearing from out of nowhere.

“Me and my cousin just got clumsy, that’s all,” Number One claimed. Zane peered at Lacey to see if she’d contradict him, but she didn’t.

As far as he was concerned, if she didn’t want to press the issue, he didn’t, either.

“Miss, you okay?”

“Absolutely, sir,” she told him, grabbing Zane’s arm and dragging him down beside her. The movement dislodged the nachos, almost making them go splat on the floor. He reached out to right them. “Just enjoying the ice hockey with my boyfriend when these two guys fell into each other. But I guess accidents happen sometimes.”

The security dude squinted at the lushes. “You two need an escort back to your seats?”

“We got it, man.”

And with that, they vanished to a different area of the stadium.

“Damn, woman. You’re impressive,” Zane bragged on her. But then he noticed how pale she seemed. “Did they freak you out?” She shook her head but then buried her face in his shoulder. This reaction worried him. One of Lacey Farrell’s most dominant traits was her loud mouth. A silent Lacey couldn’t be a good sign. “Did they hurt you?” Had he missed something while he’d been gone? Yet she answered his question with another headshake. “You want some beer and nachos?”

Looking repentant, she admitted, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“That’s okay. Want to go?”

This time she paused, and he prepared himself to take her out of the stadium. Ultimately, though, she gave another negative shake. She didn’t untuck herself from him until well into the second period. He remained quiet and seated, rubbing up and down her spine as everyone around them cheered, applauded, or groaned based on what was going on down there with the men wearing skates. When the Red Wings’ goalie made a spectacular save by butterflying himself, Zane couldn’t help releasing a muted, “Yeah, man. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What happened?” Lacey asked him.

“My boy Bernier just kept the Rangers from getting a point in the upper left corner.”

“Huh?”

“Bernier’s the goaltender. He blocked this hardcore shot.” Zane had always felt connected to Bernier. The French-Canadian had skin as dark as his own, which much as he loved hockey was rare.

“Cool.”

After that, she began to tune back in again, even getting involved in the action. When the Red Wings won with a count of four to three, she’d nearly worked up enough energy for him to believe her to be fine.

Nearly.

As they filed out with the crowd, he kept an eye on her. Everyone around them stayed too raucous for him to check in with her properly, so he waited and called an Uber. Typically, he’d drive, but since the parking around Madison Square Garden was a nightmare and a half—especially during the playoffs—he hadn’t. He and Lacey met the car halfway, sliding into the backseat. Zane wrapped an arm around her, feeling protective. He had a strategy. Either he’d convince her to talk to him, or he’d bang her anxieties right out of her. They’d just fastened their seatbelts when every muscle in her body went taut beside him.

“Ethan? Is that you?”

“Lacey Bo-basey!” Lacey Bo what? “How are you, chika-malicka?”

“Good. This is so funny. I used you as a bogus excuse to my sister not all that long ago. What are you doing here in New York?”

“Here for my stepsister. She’s big pregnant and her wife got deployed, so I moved in to help her out.”

“Aww. That’s so nice of you,” Lacey complimented the guy while Zane remained adamantly mute. “Oh, this is my friend Zane. Zane, Ethan. Ethan, Zane.” She waved between them.

“Cool to meet you, man,” Ethan said, peering at him briefly in the rearview since traffic had begun to break up.

But all Zane did was provide him with a curt nod of his head.

“We’ll have to get together and have lunch sometime,” Lacey picked up the thread of their conversation.

“Totally.”

Ethan and Lacey continued to jabber nonstop for the sum total of the thirty-four-minute trip. Zane knew because he’d kept tabs on his Rolex the whole time. When the car pulled up in front of his condo, Zane got out, went around the side, and opened the door for Lacey. She didn’t instantly exit, though. She was too busy hugging the driver. There was more chatter that Zane barely registered, then she got out with a mumbled “thanks” to him and lots of air kisses to Ethan. Hugs andair kisses. Zane watched as she waved goodbye to the car, continuing until he idled up to a street two intersections down and vanished from view.

“That was so great, seeing Ethan again.”

Zane’s left hand hurt, and he realized he’d clenched it into a fist so tight it twinged. He hadn’t even slugged those guys tonight.

“Never heard you mention an Ethan before,” he grumbled at her.

“He’s an old friend.” Lacey had resumed her customary buoyancy as one hand played with her seashell necklace. “Partnered up with him briefly through a work-school program my senior year, and we became besties. He was from Springfield rather than Butterfield, though. I haven’t seen him in years, but he’s the guy I backpacked through Europe with.”

“Okay.” This came out as a harsh grunt.

She craned her neck to peek up at him. He scratched at his goatee, only then remembering that they should probably quit standing there obstructing the sidewalk. He took a couple of steps toward the double glass doors of his front entrance.

“What is that look for?” she asked him as they entered the lobby of his building. “You’re acting like someone peed in your Cheerios.”

“I don’t like the idea of you with anyone but me.”

“Well, right back atcha, big guy.” Her voice had a grin in it, but he didn’t focus on her face. Instead, he bounded forward toward the elevator, feeling a clawing inside his gut that reminded him of a pack of feral dogs he’d once seen digging through trash in an alley back in Detroit. They’d been snarling and mangey and terrifying to his nine-year-old self. They’d chased him, and he’d fortunately found a fire escape to climb before they could maul him. It’d taken almost an hour before they gave up and he was able to get back down. He’d never told anyone about that. Not even Tasha. He registered that Lacey had said something. All he caught was the tail end. “…never have taken advantage of that clause, just so you know. What about you?”

“What about me what?” he snapped.

“Are you all right?”

“Fucking peachy, why do you ask?”

She pulled up short, and he peered at her features for the first time since they’d been in the Uber. “Because you seem… mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” He could hear the sarcasm ringing through his own voice but frankly had no desire to curb it.

“I have no idea. Care to let me in on what the problem is?”

“Why don’t you ask ‘Ethan’ what the goddamn problem is?” Zane used finger quotes when he sneered the name. He fucking loathed that name. Her blue eyes widened, then narrowed in on him.

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Deadly.”

“You can get your ass off your jealous high horse then, because it wasn’t like that between the two of us.”

“Sure. You just went backpacking all through Europe with him for what? Four years?” Did she think him a total imbecile?

“For God’s fucking sake.” She stared at him with disbelief written all over her. But while he was normally a patient man, all that patience had been drained away at the concept of Lacey hooking up with her former whatever. “Not that it should matter since I knew Ethan long before I met you, but all we ever were was friends. Platonic friends, not lovers.”

That name again.

“Right,” he gusted the word out as an obvious scoff.

“Since when do you care about every man I’ve slept with, all the sudden? I don’t remember ever opening that subject up for discussion. Besides, it’s not like you don’t have your own bevy of hookups you’ve fucked around with. Or am I not supposed to mention that?”

See? That was as good as an admission that she and that son of a bitch had been sexing it up all along. Which made it easy to sling more arrows in her direction.

“I don’t give a fuck what you mention. My past doesn’t matter.”

“Yet mine does?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Just wow.” She marched off toward the elevators again, seemed to rethink this notion, did an about-face to come back to him, then poked him in the chest. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re being a full-blown asshole.”

“It’s not what’s gotten into me that’s the issue here.”

Her mouth gaped open in seeming shock. “You are unbelievable.” Lacey thundered away from him, this time heading for the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What? Can’t handle me stating the truth?”

“What I can’t handle is being accused of some infraction I not only didn’t commit, but something that shouldn’t matter even if I did. We don’t have to be exclusive, Zane. We’ve never had to be. We decided that neither of us would be held to such a standard. Or did you conveniently forget that?”

Her reminder only added more fuel to the flames. Even if what she’d said about their arrangement was accurate—and distantly, some tiny piece of him knew it was—all he could see or imagine was her in that motherfucker’s arms. The thought caused enough bile to erupt up his gullet that she might as well have kicked him in the nuts.

Loyalty apparently meant nothing to any woman. If he’d needed additional proof to confirm that suspicion, here it was.

“I haven’t forgotten shit,” he told her. If anything, he remembered too much.

“Then why are you being so horrible?”

“Because I don’t enjoy picturing you like that.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Gaaahhh,” she screamed in outrage, literally stood there and roared with her eyes screwed shut and her hands in her hair as if to yank it out in clumps. The sound of her frustration reverberated through the lobby and caused some guy who’d just stepped out of the elevator in rumpled clothes and lipstick on his collar to wince. Red splotches appeared high on Lacey’s cheekbones, and she huffed and puffed, now out of breath.

“And I don’t enjoy being treated like some goddamn adulteress,” she bit out softly a moment later, as if to make up for the volume and amount of energy she’d just expended at him.

Yet Zane but didn’t see Lacey’s copper curls, rosebud lips, Red Wings jersey or embroidered jeans right then. He saw a completely different face and body. A completely different yet all too familiar woman.

He continued to see her in Ethan’s embrace, even if Ethan didn’t resemble their Uber driver near as much as he did the sandy blond guy Zane recalled from years ago. And abruptly, his voice grew to nearly the same absurd volume she’d used earlier.

“You’re the one who did this to me. You ruined everything, and you’re not even sorry, are you? Are you?” he shouted, feeling rage and agony in equal measure. How could Aliy—Lacey—do this to him?

Before his yell had quit echoing against the tiled walls of the lobby, Lacey stiffened like someone had hurled a scorpion down the back of her shirt. She pivoted on the spot and traversed the rest of the distance to the glass double doors that led outside. He followed her, wanting to hear her apologize, to hear her ask his forgiveness, even while knowing he probably wouldn’t give it.

But an apology wasn’t what he received.

“I am done with this argument, Zane Morrison,” she told him in a tone that was surprisingly flat and dispassionate, her form holding the door open and blocking it at the same time. “And since this is how you’re choosing to behave, I’m done with you, too. Consider our arrangement null and void.” She pushed over the threshold. Before the door could close, Zane thrust it wide, but she twisted around and jerked up her hand in a “stop” gesture. “One more thing…”

“And what would that be?” he bit out. Her features were so stone-like, he could’ve been gazing at a statue.

“Lose my number.”

With that, Lacey Farrell powered down the lamplit walkway, turned at the next intersection, and vanished into the night.