Tank chuckled as he reached out to toy with one of her “Mouseketeer” buns. “That’s not a problem. I’ve already got my own nickname for you, Mouse.”
McKenna rolled her eyes, though she was a hell of a lot less annoyed now that she knew he didn’t call her that because he’d mistaken her for some timid creature. “You and everyone else. It’s very rare when anyone calls me by my full name.”
Tank nodded. “Yeah, I noticed you’re Mac at work.”
“And my dad calls me…K-Kenny.” McKenna stumbled, shocked she’d shared that with Tank. Her relationship with her father was beyond complicated, so it was rare for her to even mention the man. “I guess I just have one of those names that work a million different ways,” she added hastily.
“I’m no stranger to nicknames myself, though everyone uses the same one. Funny, but now that I think about it, my mom gave me my nickname, too.”
“Really?” she said. “I would have thought the Tank nickname was one you picked up over the years from playing hockey.”
“Nope,” he said. “My mom started using it when I was three. I’ve always been a bit of a brute. I used to rearrange the furniture in our house, moving really heavy-ass shit whenever Mom wasn’t looking. Said she left me alone in the den once for a few minutes and when she got back, I’d pushed my dad’s recliner all the way across the room. Thing weighed a ton. Started calling me her little Tank.”
McKenna enjoyed his story. “I love that. You know what? Nicknames would be a great series of posts for social media. A lot of the guys have them. I’m going to start asking them where they got their nicknames from.”
“That’s a fun idea,” he agreed.
The two of them walked to the door. Tank leaned on the doorjamb as she turned to say goodbye.
“Thanks for all your help,” he said, with a sincerity that caught her off guard.
She shrugged. “No problem.” Then she realized she probably should have put stricter parameters on his short-term house arrest, especially since he didn’t put up much of a fight.
“When I say stay in, I mean alone. You got that, right?”
Tank reached over, gently pushing her glasses up on her nose before bopping the tip of it. “You starting to get jealous, Mouse?”
She tilted her head. “I’m being serious, Tank.”
Tank chuckled. “So am I.”
McKenna started to come back at him, but he quickly threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll be good,” he said, drawing a cross over his heart. “No sleepovers, no fun. I know the drill.”
“Great. See you tomorrow morning.”
Tank remained in the doorway until she got to the elevator and pushed the button, and he was still there when she got on. Just before the doors closed, he gave her one final wave, and while she knew he was sleeping in the bed he’d made, the glimmer of true sadness in his eyes almost had her going back and offering to watch the game with him, even though she was needed in the press box.
She resisted that tug.
Breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the lobby, she walked to her car, proud of her first day’s efforts.
Now, she just had to stay the course, keeping Tank out of trouble while resisting his gorgeous face, eight-pack abs, and charming smile.
Piece of cake.
Ha ha.
Chapter Three
Tank was dressed and ready when McKenna picked him up for yet another evening of schmoozing the fans, talking hockey, shaking hands, and working overtime to convince them he wasn’t some degenerate womanizer.
Good fucking times, he thought sarcastically.
They had officially reached the final day of his redemption tour yesterday, but tonight’s excursion had been included anyway, because it hit on a night when the team didn’t have a game.
He’d returned to practice this morning, and while it was great to be back with his team, he had actually missed seeing McKenna today. The two of them had been in each other’s faces for fourteen days straight, which, to be honest, was way more than he could stand of most people. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel that way about her. Over the course of the past two weeks, he felt as if he and McKenna had forged the beginning of a friendship—despite how unlikely that seemed.
The trip to the VA hospital had gone well, as had the ribbon-cutting at the sporting goods store, and the other five million “positive” promo opportunities McKenna had arranged to help clean his reputation. Not that there hadn’t been people at some of the various places hoping to stir up shit or provoke him into giving them more ammo to use against him. McKenna referred to them as trolls and hecklers and said the best way to shut them down was to ignore them.
