Lucas (Cold Fury Hockey 8)

The game.

The first play-off is game tonight, and admittedly, I've transformed into a bit of an asshole. In fairness to her, I sort of warned her it was coming.

"My goddamn lucky underwear," I grit out as I pull more clothes out and drop them to the floor. I figure I get a pass on being cranky since it's the play-offs and a completely stressful time.

"What do they look like?" she asks hesitantly, because this is the first I've shared with her about my lucky underwear. I wear them to every play-off game, so they are quite tattered because they get washed almost daily, and now that I think about it, I've never won a Stanley Cup before, so why in the fuck I consider them lucky is beyond me.

Whatever...I can't break the streak now.

"They're black with a gray band," I explain to her, miming with my hands at my waist. "Old. The band is frayed."

She dips her head and covers her mouth with her hand, trying to hide her amusement from me as I turn back to dig through the next set of drawers.

"Simone," I bellow as I straighten up and push past Jules. When I get to my bedroom door, I stick my head out. "Have you seen my lucky underwear?"

"I moved all your underwear to the tall dresser," she calls back. "Check there."

"Goddammit," I mutter, and let out another string of curses as I stalk to the tall dresser to rummage through. When I don't find them in the first drawer, I yell out pissily to Simone, "And stay the hell out of my shit."

"I think someone could use a good orgasm about now," Stephanie murmurs from behind me, and I hear the bedroom door shut.

As I'm tossing clothing left and right, she presses into my back and wraps her arms around my waist. A slight thrill courses through me, but doesn't in any way diminish my anger over not finding what I need. I don't acknowledge her touch, though, needing first to lay my hands on my briefs.

Stephanie's not deterred, however, as she's a bold and sensual woman. Her hand drops down to cup me between the legs and desire courses through me, but I push it away because finding my fucking underwear is just more important right now, and fuck...I sound like a girl.

This pisses me off even more, causing me to shrug her off. "Not now, Steph. I've got to find that underwear."

She steps away from me without a word and I push the guilt down for this rough treatment. I'll make it up to her later.

After the game.

"What can I do to help?" she asks softly.

"Aha!" I yell out in victory, holding up my ratty-looking boxer briefs. "Found them."

Chuckling, she mutters, "Crisis averted."

It's not a laughing matter, though. This was some serious superstition that could have ruined everything if I hadn't found them. I give her a cursory glance and ask her in a brisk voice as I turn to throw my drawers in my game bag, "You're going to stay the night here again, right? After the game, you're coming back here with me."

"Actually, I'm not," she returns in a calm, even tone.

My body locks tight and I turn to her in disbelief. "What?"

"Remember," she says slowly, as if I'm a kindergartner. "They've asked me to come in to work tomorrow and I agreed. I have to be in too early, so I told you I was staying at my place."

I scrub a hand through my hair in frustration as Stephanie watches me guardedly. "You can't just get up a little earlier to make it into work?"

"Lucas, no," she chastises me...again, like I'm a child. "It's going to be a late night as it is with the game, and then I know there's going to be a celebration after because y'all are going to kick Florida's ass. It's just easier to stay at my apartment."

"Fine," I snap at her before whipping around and stomping to the closet. I pull out a suit, throw it onto the bed, then turn back to my tie rack to select one.

As I flip through them, I bring up a bit of a sore subject with me, and since I'm a little bit--okay a lot--irritable today, I say, "Max told me that you are going to take Annabelle's class over to the nursing home Jules works at."

I look at her briefly and she blinks in surprise that I would know this. Why the fuck would that bother her?

"Um, yeah," she says carefully, and perhaps she's reading my pissy vibes or something. "We're looking to do it week after next."

"And you couldn't have told me this why?" I ask a little petulantly--okay, like a snotty-nosed brat--as I snag a butter-yellow tie.

Her jaw is locked tight when I look back to her. She speaks through partially clenched teeth when she says, "I didn't realize I had to tell you everything I did."

Wrong fucking words for the mood I'm in right now. "I'd be grateful if you just told me something you did. Anything at all I'd be grateful for."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks indignantly.

"It means you hold yourself in reserve most of the time and you're not a big sharer," I mutter before turning back to my closet to grab my dress shoes. "Getting close to you is like trying to break into Fort Knox, and I'm beginning to think it's insurmountable and I wonder if you do it on purpose."

She draws in a sharp breath, and I'm ashamed I just hurt her with those words, but I get so damned frustrated sometimes with how hard it is to chip away at her walls.

"I thought I'd done remarkably well over the weeks we've been together, letting you in," she says bitingly, and that's all true, but I'm well beyond giving her acknowledgment right now. All my stress is pouring out onto her and I don't do a damn thing to take it back. "I've told you more about me than any other person alive. I've shared more of myself with you than I ever thought was possible."

"If you say so," I quip as I turn back to my closet to avoid the further look of hurt and anger I know will be evident. I have nothing left to grab out of here, so I just stare into the interior.

"Asshole," she says so softly I'm not sure I heard her right.

I wait just a few seconds and then turn to see what else she might have to say to me, but she's gone.

"Goddamnit, Stephanie," I roar as I bolt out of my room.

I race past Simone, who is sitting on the couch with a worried look at the open doorway.

"Shit," I mutter as I bolt for the door. I hit the screen so hard my hand punches a hole through it, causing me to yell, "Fuck."

Making another attempt to exit, I hit the latch and practically lurch out onto the porch, seeing Stephanie halfway across the yard heading to her car.

"Stephanie!" I yell out to her. "Hold the fuck up."

She ignores me and walks faster, her delicate hands curled into tight fists that I'm pretty sure want to knock my teeth down my throat. I barrel down the porch steps and across the lawn, and just as she's about to step off the curb into the street, I latch on to her elbow.

Spinning her around to me, I growl at her, "What the fuck? You're just leaving?"

"Let. Go. Of. My. Arm," she says menacingly, each word bitten out with barely contained fury. She is dangerously close to flipping her shit, and an overwhelming wave of guilt hits me that I would bring this down upon her.

The mother of my child.

I release her arm immediately and watch her with worried eyes.

"I don't deserve that shit from you," she says softly, but still with an underlying fury that scares the crap out of me. She continues, "I get you may be stressed out, and fine...if that's the way it's going to be, then I'm just going to politely decline to be in your presence. It seems to be the best way to save your life, because I swear to God, I want to strangle you."

"Fuck," I mutter as I tip my head back to face the sky for a moment. I then bring my gaze back to Stephanie and let loose my own feelings. "I don't need this shit today of all days."

"Which means I should leave," she snarls at me as she wheels around to her car, and I realize I'm a moron. That was totally not the right thing to say to an irate and aggrieved woman with pregnancy hormones racing through her.

"Christ, I'm sorry," I blurt out as I jump forward and take her elbow again. "Please...just stop and let's talk this out. I don't know what I'm doing and I'v

e never had to explain this behavior to anyone before."

"You've explained it already," she clips out, pulling her arm from my grasp, which I let go immediately.

"Fine, yes," I admit guiltily. "I explained I'd be stressed. I guess I just don't know how to temper myself with you. I just...I'm not sure what I'm doing."

"You're chasing me off, Luc," she says softly, and I feel like she's punched me in the gut. "You're making me put my walls back up. For a woman who's not had much conflict in her life because my parents didn't care enough to even make conflict, I have to tell you I don't like this feeling. I don't want to deal with it, and one of the reasons that being alone is a benefit is that you don't have to deal with these things."

"You want to call it quits?" I ask hotly, my anger flaring again that she'd dare threaten me so blatantly.

"Of course I don't want that," she says calmly, and her rational demeanor settles me down a bit. "And while I can logically understand this is a very intense time for you, I'm not putting up with this bullshit. If you're cranky during play-offs, fine. Call me when they're over. Otherwise, learn to deal with it instead of taking it out on me."

"In other words, mind my p's and q's around you?" I ask sarcastically, still driven by an anger I can't seem to get under control, even though I know I'm digging my own grave.

Taking a deep breath, Stephanie lets out a sigh and gives me a sympathetic look. For all the ways I think she can be the immature one in the relationship because of her hang-ups, she responds to me with amazing sensibility.

She steps up to me and places her hands on my hips. "I want you to be yourself, Luc, and you're not a mean or cruel person. I know this, and I'm apparently as much a hothead as you are, which doesn't make the greatest combination in the worst of times. You've always been so confident in yourself and what we have together, I don't think it ever occurred to me that you might have some bad days too, and perhaps I could be a little more empathetic."