That might be sad, but again, Tate was taking what he could get. And he was going to have to put himself completely out there if he expected to get any return. Life was like that. Every reward he’d ever reaped in hockey had been because he’d thrown himself on the mercy of the ice—sometimes literally.
He was four feet behind her when she said, “Yes. I’ll have her call you as soon as she’s free.”
Two feet. He could smell her now. Fruity shampoo. Clean body wash. Not what he expected based on how sexy she smelled the other night. But that slipped out of his mind as she said, “Okay. Sounds good. Thank you. Bye.”
She bent to write something, and Tate said, “That sounded good.”
Her head came around as she glanced over her shoulder. She was smiling, bright, happy. Her hair slid over her suit jacket, reminding Tate of the way it slid over her shoulders when she’d looked at him that night while he’d taken her from behind.
“Oh, hi,” she said, then turned back to what she was writing. “I didn’t see you. It was good. That was—”
He didn’t care, he needed to touch her.
He closed the distance and slipped his arm around her waist. She gasped, straightened and grabbed at his arm. “What—”
“Just one second.” Tate pressed his face to her neck. “I just need to feel you for a second.”
“Mr….Donovan…?”
Tate laughed, nuzzled her ear and kissed her neck. She didn’t taste the same. That had to be his imagination. But something didn’t feel right. He wasn’t sure what. Was almost afraid to look too closely. “I think I liked Sir better, but I guess we could try Mr. Donovan if you want.”
“Uh, no.” She was still stiff against him. Her voice wasn’t the warm, teasing, sexy voice he was used to.
Dread gathered in his gut. He drew in a breath and pulled back, meeting her eyes. They were… Damn. Maybe the alcohol had lingered longer than he’d thought that night. Or maybe there hadn’t been enough light. Because she just didn’t look the same. No, she looked the same, but not the same.
“I know that look.” She stepped out of his arms and turned to face him at the same time. “You’re not going crazy. This has happened before.” She held her hand out to him for a shake. “I’m Quinn Essex, Olivia’s sister.”
His jaw unhinged. He stepped back. Way back. His stomach dropped to his feet. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God. I’m…fuck…” As soon as he said the word he slammed his eyes shut and put up both hands. “I’m…so sorry.” He covered his face with both hands paced away, filled his lungs and turned to face her again. “Wow, I couldn’t have messed that up worse if I’d tried.” He stuffed his hands into his back pockets and tried to focus on the concrete at his feet, but he couldn’t keep his
gaze off her face, unable to believe… “You’ve got to be—”
“Twins,” she said with an apologetic attempt at a grin as she wrung her hands. “Identical. We used to get mistaken for each other all through childhood. Still would if she didn’t live in another country.”
“Oh my God…” He dropped his gaze to the cement and scraped a hand through his hair. He hadn’t felt this foolish since he’d found out Lisa had been screwing guys for months behind his back.
“It’s really okay,” Quinn said and it was her voice that was apologetic. “I’m sorry as well. I hope this won’t make you want to change our working situation. My mother and I are really looking forward to planning your event for Afterschool Advantage.”
“Oh, God no.” He held up his hands. “As long as you still want to do it. I hope you do. I’d have a hard time finding someone at this late date.”
“Yes, yes, absolutely.” She laughed the words and it seemed to put them on even ground again.
He laughed. “Wow, awkward way to meet, huh?” He was scraping a hand through his hair when her earlier words registered. And now he wondered why she hadn’t hauled off and slapped him. He looked up at her again and gestured between them. “What did you mean this has happened before?”
“Oh, um…” She tucked her hair behind her ear and crossed her arms. “Well, you know, sometimes when Olivia comes home, she meets someone and, like you, they hit it off…”
She left it open-ended. Just dangling there for Tate’s mind to grab and run with. Anyone who knew anything about Tate knew you never left anything dangling if you didn’t want him to grab it, take control, and own it.
He may have owned Olivia for a night, he’d known that going in, but it sure looked damned different in the light a few days later. He’d never imagined himself as one of the many schmucks who’d come looking for her afterward, but it was crystal clear that he was just like every other guy she picked up. No different than the puck bunnies his teammates took up to their rooms, fucked, and never thought about again.
That realization kicked him straight in the gut with absolutely no warning. It stole his breath like a sucker punch from the league’s biggest defenseman.
“Right.” His word came out rough. He felt like he’d swallowed gravel. He dropped his gaze the concrete again and it took all he had to dig up enough composure to even make the attempt to look like this wasn’t as big a deal as it was. “Well, again, I apologize for mistaking you for Olivia, Quinn, and…” he gestured to her and finally pushed out, “for uh…you know.”
She was giving him that puppy-dog-at-the-pound look. The one the bleeding hearts want to take home because everyone’s passed him up and they feel so sorry for him. “And I’m really sorry about Olivia. She’s a beautiful person. And she doesn’t intentionally mean to hurt anyone. She’s just…” Quinn shrugged. “She’s just…a little lost.”
Yeah. Well, so was he. Now, even more than his normally pathetically lost state.
“Sure,” he said. “Well, I guess I’ll just— I think I have an appointment schedule with Teresa to follow up on the banquet details. I might see you then?“