“Of course...” She folded herself onto a high bar stool and smoothed a hand over the top of her head. Face-plant notwithstanding, at least her topknot was still on point. No doubt she looked a whole lot less frazzled than she felt. “My fridge is your fridge. There’s an acai pouch in there that’ll do the job.”
“Was that even English?” He opened the freezer and peered in as if expecting a boa constrictor curled up in wait. “A-sigh-what?”
“Acai. It’s like a berry. They are from the Amazon. Lots of antioxidants.”
“Like a berry, huh?” He reached in, grabbed the frozen bag and wrapped it in the dish towel hanging off the oven with a quick, efficient movement before passing it over. “Where I come from we’d slap a raw steak on our face and call it good, but hey, I’m sure fancy berries work.”
“I was told to expect a surly hockey player, not a comedian,” Margot said archly, applying the cold compress.
“Surly? Coach said that?” Patch’s face was unreadable.
He had peculiar features, each one strong almost to the point of being overpowering. His deep-set blue eyes made the sky seem colorless, while his close-trimmed beard held hues of wildfire and buckwheat honey. His cheekbones were sharp, and his long nose came to a point on the end. A moody face, brutish, but not cruel.
“Okay, that wasn’t an exact quote. He might have used a phrase more like ‘pain in my ass.’”
Patch’s chuckle came and went so fast she almost wondered if she’d hallucinated it. “That’s sounds like the coach I know.”
“Why were you lurking outside my door? Are you opposed to knocking?”
“Figured if I hung around long enough I’d be used for battering ram practice.”
His deadpan delivery took her a second to process even as he evaded the question. “More jokes?”
“Should have aimed forSNLrather than the NHL.”
“Ba-dum-dum-tish.” She rolled her eyes, pretending to hit an imaginary cymbal.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed an invisible crowd. “I’ll be here all night.”
She removed the acai pouch. “Let’s have a do-over. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
He stared. “You think I look like a tea drinker?”
“I’m not in the habit of making assumptions.”
“I am. For example, you don’t have a single can of Coke in your fridge, do you?”
“I never drink soda.”
“Shocker.” His gaze ping-ponged around the kitchen. He wasn’t blinking. Was he scouting for the nearest exit? “Forget the tea. We gonna start or what?”
“That depends.” She leaned forward, tilting her head to one side. “Do you really want to be here?”
“Who doesn’t want to twist themselves into a pretzel?” His sheepskin collar nearly brushed his ears. Tension poured off him in waves.
“How about we start slow, focus on breathing.”
His brow arched. “I hate to break it to you, but I do that fine.”
“Well, actually, you aren’t inhaling deep enough.” She rose and stepped forward. “May I touch you?”
He gave a curt nod.
She reached into his open leather jacket and brushed her fingertips against his stomach, quick as static shock.Good lord.There wasn’t so much as a millimeter of give on this man. His abs were as solid as his chest.
Not that she cared one way or another. This was merely an impassive, factual observation.
“Feel this, right here?” She tried to ignore the tightening sensation in her chest. “This is the spot where you should be pulling from. It’s called diaphragmatic breathing. Right now your ribs hardly move. It’s too shallow. Why don’t you come into the living room, lie down on the rug and get more comfortable? Then I’ll show you what I mean.”
