“Is this where you argue for me not to be macho and split the tab?” he asked wryly.
“Hell, no. You asked me out. You pay.”
He grunted. “Finally. You’re talking sense.” He left the server a generous tip and walked with Marlie out of the restaurant.
But not before a few fans stopped him, asking for autographs.
He gave them his trademark glower, which made one of his younger fans flinch. Then he laughed and patted the kid on the shoulder. “Forgot for a minute there I wasn’t on the ice.”
The small crowd in the front of the restaurant laughed. Marlie, he noted, nodded for him to continue, so he greeted everyone who asked for a picture or autograph before hurrying to her side and out the door.
The weather, though cold, felt pleasant enough to indulge a short walk to a nearby bar he’d planned to visit with her.
“That was nice.” She smiled up at him. Unfortunately, she’d tucked her hands in her pockets, so he couldn’t latch onto her.
“What? Scaring kids? It was pretty fun.”
“No, knucklehead. Being kind to your fans. Those teenagers were over the moon, and so was that little boy once he stopped shaking. You do have a killer mean face.”
“Aw, thanks, Marlie.” Screw it. He grabbed her hand from her pocket and engulfed it in his.
She blinked up at him, her cheeks pink, and not just from the weather. But she didn’t pull her hand away.
“That never gets old,” he admitted. “I mean it. I remember how much it meant to me when I’d see someone I admired on the ice. Not being a dickhead to fans should be mandatory. Well, to Flyers or Bruins fans, sure. But not Ice Raptor fans.”
She snickered. “What about Maverick or Shark fans?”
“Huh?”
“My brothers’ team, the Mavs? And their rivals on Sunday? You haven’t forgotten your promise to coach them have you?”
“Of course not. Though those names kind of suck.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t have picked them.”
They turned a corner, and white lights twinkled in the trees, the moon bright overhead.
“What would you have picked?” He asked. “No, don’t tell me. The manglers. The stranglers. The maulers.”
“Why are all those names for killers?”
“Gee, I wonder.” He snorted. “Who was it that thought I planned to kill them and stuff them in my hockey bag?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that the same person who mentioned how tough it is to saw through bone?”
“You never did say if you liked horror movies.”
“Well, I do.” She huffed. “But I’m sure you don’t.”
“Of course I do.”
“Really?”
The discussion devolved into the genres of torture porn, psychological horror, and gore.
So naturally Damon led her into the next fun portion of the night.
Ax throwing.
