I lean in. “You’re saying that Nora will love whatever I do, and even if she has a great time, other people will still judge it, and me.”
Harley lifts his coffee cup with a smile. He seems like such a happy, friendly guy.
“Pretty much,” he says.
I slump in my chair.
I maybe should have just stuck with hockey after all.
CHAPTER 11
ALEX
There aretwo areas of my life where I’m always confident. Two things I’ve been doing for averylong time, two things I’ve been praised for over and over. And they are the two things that have made me actually feel jittery since coming to Rebel, Louisiana.
Hockey.
And romancing women.
Bonkers hockey has me in my head thinking about feeling like a dumbass on the ice for the first time in…ever.
And I’m actually feeling my nerves jumping as I pull into the short driveway outside of Nora’s tiny bungalow for our date.
What thefuckis this?
I’ve been taking women out socially for longer than I’ve had an official driver’s license. Before that, I had a driver. Yeah, yeah, I grew up as a rich kid. Not my fault.
And it never occurred to me to be nervous about dating. I was popular, what can I say? Girls, then women, wanted to go out with me. I never had to worry about having a date to any event I wanted to attend, and to several I didn’t want to attend. I’ve dated models, actresses, and singers. Women who are more famous than I am. Women who have to duck more paparazzithan I do. I’ve never minded the cameras or gossip columns or attention.
But as I sit in the ten-year-old blue pickup that sounds like it left its muffler several blocks back—one of the many ways my sister is amusing herself, I’m sure—outside of the house that would fit inside my penthouse three times, I’m nervous.
Nora is different. She’s not going out with me because she wants to. She’s going out with me…to help me. I shove a hand through my hair. Yeah, that’s new.
Yes, it’s also helping the hockey team, and that’s going to help her grandfather, which will make her happy. But all of that put together simply means that she’s going out with me tonight for a whole lot of reasons other than actually wanting to date me.
And the attention we’re going to get is this entire town judging if I’m good enough for her. The sporting world, and the world that’s made my past dates and girlfriends celebrities, has no idea I’m even here, so there won’t be cameras and reporters.
The “paparazzi” here worships otters and has known Nora since she was in diapers and doesn’t love her because she sells lipstick and lingerie or movie and tour tickets, but because she’s…Nora.
And they have duct tape, airboats, and remote cabins, and aren’t afraid to use them.
I study the house that is painted lavender with bright yellow trim, steps, porch railing, and front door.
Of course, it has a bright yellow front door.
I think I would’ve been disappointed if this house were white with typical colored shutters and front door.
Okay, no matter what else is going on around us, I’m going to make tonight fun for this woman.
She makes everything fun for other people. That is literally her entire job description. I studied brochures and their website today during my downtime. There are so fucking manyevents, clubs, and activities in this town. Entertaining people is seemingly all she does every day.
So tonight, instead of concentrating on the fact that I am trying to win an entire town over, keep from getting kidnapped, and help an old man get reelected mayor for the four hundredth time, I’m going to concentrate on Nora. The woman who makes me feel warm and happy without effort. And, apparently, does that for everyone else, as well.
I’m going to treat her like a fucking princess. Period. That’s the whole plan.
I get out of the truck and head toward her front door. It strikes me that I’m not sure I’ve ever gone up to a date’s front door. Not like this. Not without cameras watching, or PR people staging it, or long corridors and private elevators involved.
This is just a normal front walk, a normal front porch—scratch that, this is a very tiny front porch—and a normal front door.
