“Sir, it’s Carl. We have a code red.”

Carl, his eighty-something year old doorman, agreed to be his first line of defense against extra company in exchange for a couple playoff tickets last year. A code red meant there was another woman downstairs requesting to come up to his apartment.

“Who is it?” he whispered, turning around so the brunette behind him couldn’t hear. At this point, though, he’d be happy to piss her off and get her out of his apartment. “The blonde?”

“No. She’s not one of the usual girls. She’s wearing a jersey.”

That didn’t sound right. No woman he brought to his place would be caught dead in a jersey. None of them even liked hockey, just the fact that they knew he played it. It never really bothered him until now.

“What kind of jersey?” he inquired, running a hand absently through his hair.

If it was a Rangers jersey, then it was just a fan. It happened from time to time. Hockey fans were resilient. No matter the precautions he took to keep his address out of the spotlight, they’d always find him eventually.

“I’m not sure.” He could practically imagine Carl straining his eyes around the corner from his desk to check. “It’s green.”

Henrik paused in thought. His Rangers jersey definitely wasn’t green, but that wasn’t the jersey that flashed in his mind at that moment. A raw flush of hormones shot through him, causing his back to snap suddenly straight. “North Dakota, by chance?” His voice dropped a register.

“Yeah,” Carl considered. “I think so.”

“My guest wouldn’t happen to be a feisty redhead, would she?”

“She was a little rude,” Carl grumbled. “She was asking for Mr. Blakely, and then your brother, but when I told her they were both gone, she finally said she would settle for you, but she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Leila.” He said it loud, just loud enough to bring attention to himself. When the brunette turned around, her eyes narrowing at him, he smiled. “Send her up, Carl.”

“Who was that?” The woman leaned back on the couch, her feet propped up on his coffee table. A poor attempt to bring attention to the fact that she’d hiked up her skirt while he was on the phone. He walked to the door and swung it open. “I apologize—” he paused, realizing he didn’t remember her name “—but I’m going to need a rain check.”

She sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. “Who is Leila?”

He contemplated it for a moment, deciding which answer would get her out the quickest. “It’s my wife. She’s on her way up.”

Her face hardened. “You’re not married. I Googled it.”

She remained on the couch with her arms crossed over her chest like a three-year old about to have a tantrum. He rubbed the bridge between his eyes again. “Okay. So, she’s not my wife. But there is another woman on her way up here, and apparently I want you to leave so badly that I lied to you about her being my wife to get you out of the apartment. Either way, I’m an asshole.”

She stood, but made no attempt to leave. “I want to know who she is.”

Thank God he hadn’t slept with her.

“Honestly?” He took a few steps forward. “She’s my best friend’s little sister, and my little brother’s first crush. I slept with her a while back. I’m hoping she just drove two hours because it was so great she wants to do it again.”

She eyed him curiously, as if she didn’t believe him. “You’re serious?”

“Hence, the door—” He showcased it like a prize on a game show.

She gawked at him a few more seconds, his words slowly sinking in. “You asshole!”

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Finally.”

The onslaught began then, the usual melody of cursing and declarations of ill will. He was too busy glancing down the hallway to really pay attention. The elevator dinged. She would cross paths with Leila on her way out. The brunette brushed by him, still diligently cursing in his direction. He nodded graciously, moving out of her way. She made it all the way down the hallway before Leila stepped into view.

Cut off jean shorts were barely visible beneath a faded Fighting Sioux jersey.

It was Leila. It was the Leila he knew. The final layers of her Derek-induced transformation stripped away.

No make-up. Long curls pulled back into a lopsided ponytail.

His adrenaline kicked into overdrive. She stopped in front of him, glancing back over her shoulder toward the brunette, who was now gone. “You’re disgusting.” She set a small black bag down next to her.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, grinning like he wasn’t wearing just a pair of briefs. Funny how all that self-doubt that tried to seep in vanished. This was better than a random text or cryptic message unknowingly passed on by her brother. “You’re the one at my doorstep for the second time. I must not be that bad,” he teased, noting how his mood had done a complete one-eighty in the past five minutes.

“Screw you.”

He shouldn’t provoke her, but it was the only way he could get an honest response out of her. Plus, it amused him. She had come back. He hadn’t felt this accomplished since the draft.

“I’m here to see Austin. Do you know where he is?”

He pretended to think it over, entertained by the notion that she was using her brother as an excuse to see him again. He made sure to shoot her a cocky smile before he responded. “I’d probably do a better job at telling you what he’s doing, rather than where he’s doing it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your nasty habits are rubbing off on him.”

He leaned forward, smirking. “I was under the impression they’d rubbed off on you.”

“Forget it. Tell him I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She whirled around to leave, and suddenly, he was in the hallway behind her, grabbing her elbow. “Wait.”

She flinched at his touch, the sensation setting off a chain reaction in her that sent her elbow flying as she twirled to get out of his grasp. He stood behind her, his hands in the air.

“What’s up with you? You almost took my head off.”

Leila looked around, her face cold. “Don’t touch me. Who knows where your hands have been tonight.”

So, she was mad about the brunette getting on the elevator.

He wasn’t going to lie. He felt satisfied knowing it had sparked even a small amount of jealousy in her. It was at least something.

She turned to leave when the elevator dinged again. His younger brother Drew stumbled out, laughing as he pulled a girl along with him, obviously drunk off his ass. Drew was drunk off his ass a lot lately.

Leila’s back jerked straight, and he decided to act on instinct. He grabbed her by the waist, quickly pulling her inside his apartment before slamming the door behind them.

Brothers and their fucking impeccable timing.

They were face to face now, their noses almost close enough to touch. He knew he should move, allow her out of his grasp, but he waited for her to show the first indication that pinned up against his door wasn’t where she wanted to be right now.

She breathed heavily, her eyes dark with worry. “Is Drew about to—”

“Don’t ruin his night,” he interrupted, knowing where the conversation would go.

If Drew caught one glimpse of Leila, his date would be over. He was sure of it. Her face turned stern, but he continued. “That’s the first date he’s been on in months, and I practically forced him to go.”

Leila’s eyes softened. The only time he ever noticed it was when someone mentioned his brother. He was man enough to admit it made him a little envious.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Her head fell back against the door with a resounding thud.

The gesture exposed the smooth skin at the nape of her neck. His mind instantly went in the gutter and drained down every licentious ditch after it. “But since you’re here,” he cooed, biting his lip.

Leila’s eyes widened as if she noticed for the first time that a half-naked man was pressed suggestively up against her. She immediately shoved him away, putting at least five feet between them before she scolded him. “I’m actually trying to have a serious conversation with you.”