Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,22

. . quieted when she was with Ethan.

“—he cares about,” he said, continuing his silliness about a man needing to take care of a woman he apparently cared about, “no matter if she’s strong and capable enough to carry in her own groceries.”

She crossed her arms. “And your groceries? Should I carry those in turn?”

“My groceries will survive my walk back to my place.”

“You’re going to what?”

“Walk,” he said, pausing by the door to her condo and waiting while she unlocked the door and held it for him, after shifting the single paltry bag he’d “allowed” her to carry after she’d pitched a fit, in order to stick the key in the lock and open it.

Also, that was new.

The fit part.

That she somehow felt comfortable enough with Ethan that she could argue with him. Aside from her mom and dad and two sisters, she didn’t argue with anyone. She kept her head down, tried not to draw attention to herself, and lived her life to the best of her ability.

No.

The last part was a lie.

She lived her life to the best of her ability to keep herself safe.

That was to say, she hid.

From nearly everyone and everything.

Long-term relationships? Hell, no.

Friendships? Few and far between. She considered herself closest to Stephanie, or Fanny as she preferred to be called, who was the Gold’s skating coach, but that was a new friendship, still fragile and building, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to open up enough to find the closeness a piece of her deep inside craved. Aside from Fanny, she’d even resisted being folded into the friend group of the Gold woman, until Mandy had physically dragged her to one of their girls’ nights out.

She’d had a nice time, and the women were all awesome.

But it was already hard for her to get a word in edgewise in a normal conversation, let alone with a group of beautiful, successful, smart, and funny women who weren’t shy.

Dani did better one-on-one, and she did even better when that one-on-one was with a person or people she knew—like her parents or her sisters.

It was easier to get a word in when she remembered that Toni had once puked all over the carpet because she’d eaten too many bowls of Cocoa Krispies, or that Loni (yes, her parents had a thing with names ending in I) had once nearly burned down the house because she wanted to teach her hamster to jump through a tiny flaming ring.

Also, let it be noted that no hamsters were harmed in the training of said trick.

The curtains in their living room, on the other hand, had been permanently scorched, and the paint—freshly done by their mom—hadn’t fared much better.

She could easily talk when she remembered that her mom had once broken her big toe because she’d gotten so mad at the washing machine that she’d kicked the clear plastic circle on the front—not once, but three times. And she could tease her dad about his inability to start campfires, even when provided with accelerant, a lighter, and dry wood.

Because she had years of memories, the comfort of all that time, and the fact that they’d stuck by her when things went to absolute shit.

It was just the rest of the world she couldn’t trust.

Maybe that made her pathetic, but she’d been burned deeply enough to not be willing to put her happiness and mental well-being on the line.

Better to live in the small, happy world she’d created.

But with Ethan—who had walked past her and into her tiny kitchen and was currently stacking the bags on the counter—she was tempted to make that world a little bigger. She wasn’t . . . well, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with him. Definitely not comfortable. Instead, she was—

What?

Uncomfortable? Yeah, sure.

But also intrigued by the gentle, quiet, tamed grizzly bear way he’d managed to draw her into conversation, entranced by his smile, the kindness in his eyes, utterly, hopelessly captivated by the pushy—and yet somehow still charming—way he’d hijacked her afternoon, coaxed her into shopping with him.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d relaxed enough with a person she hardly knew, let alone a man she didn’t know well, to actually laugh with him.

But she’d laughed with him.

A lot.

While walking up and down the aisles of a grocery store.

And . . . she had liked it, liked laughing with Ethan, liked spending time with him, liked him, plain and simple.

Did she like him enough to want to expand her little bubble of