Unabashed, she met his gaze head-on. She didn’t play it coy like other women. Oh no, she was too real for that. “Maybe a little. Plus, we’re both in the same industry. Do you know how rare that is in a city full of celebrities and entitled assholes?”
He kept his mouth shut because he was both a celebrity and, as tonight’s video implied, an entitled asshole. Not to mention she had no idea that he hadn’t come here for a date.
“So, why new builds?” she asked. “Besides the money.”
“I like the idea of starting from scratch. A fresh slate. How about you? Why flips?”
“‘Flips’ sounds so transactional. I see myself as more of a protector of the forgotten. I like discovering the history and memories of a house and then passing that passion along to the next owners. How long have you been in construction?”
How to answer this one without giving away his hockey past? He didn’t know why, but he wanted to keep his identity a secret for as long as he could. But there was something goingon here that he couldn’t identify. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to end. Not to mention, the moment she found out who he was, she’d google him. He already knew what would come up first. So he’d play this game until his time ran out.
“It’s the family business. My brother and I took it over from my dad.” There. That was vague enough to avoid further inquiry into his past professions, yet not a lie. “And you?”
“I started restoring antique furniture when I was a kid. We couldn’t afford new anything, so I’d search swap meets and find treasures that needed some TLC. Restoration was love at first sight for me. When I turned twenty, I used an insurance payout to buy my first house. It sat on the market so long it nearly bankrupted me. Then I learned that people want some kind of emotional connection to their home that goes deeper than design and aesthetics, so I got smart about getting the history of the house out there and it practically sold itself. I reinvested into my second and then my third. And here I am, restoring two houses a year.”
Color him impressed. “Do you do it all by yourself?”
“I hire out specialty work like plumbing and electric, but for the most part I’m a one-woman show—well, with my best friend Kiki. How about you? New builds require a big crew. How is that?”
There were so many people on payroll that he felt like a joke in comparison. It took thirty men to do what this woman did by herself.
“A large crew comes with a lot of responsibility,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get my hands dirty.”
She grabbed his hand and held it up for inspection. There went that bolt of chemistry again, coursing up his arm and through his body.
“Dirty enough for you?” he whispered.
Her eyes flew to his and her breath caught. She dropped his hand like it burned her.
Join the club, Angel.
“What makes you think I like dirty?” she whispered back, so low he barely heard it over the excited chatter of the crowd. Even though the bar was enormous, packed shoulder to shoulder with a hundred patrons, it felt as if it was just the two of them, alone in their own bubble.
Decker hadn’t felt like that in a long while. If ever.
“Besides the way you’re looking at me? Gut instinct. And my instincts are always right. What are your instincts telling you?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and he practically fell off his chair, he was leaning in so close to make sure he heard every word. Just then, the bartender came back with their beers.
“I knew I recognized you,” the bartender said.
Decker felt his stomach bottom out.
He felt his not-a-date date’s eyes on him, but he refused to meet her gaze when he said, “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”
“You’re Jamison Decker,” she said. “And you’re on television.”
He glanced up at the screen on the opposite side of the bar, unable to believe his shit luck. There was a photo of him and Holly with the words “Sex Tape Scandal” scrolling on the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen.
He turned to the charming and beautiful woman beside him, but she was looking at the screen, mouth gaped open in horror.
“I thought you were in construction,” she said sharply.
“I am,” he said. Once he started talking, he couldn’t stop himself. Hell, he’d say anything to take them back to thirty seconds ago. “I used to be a pro hockey player.”
“I can see that. And so much more.” She was standing and fishing through her pocket. She pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the bar.
He reached for her arm to stop her from leaving. He didn’t want the night to end on a bad note. He’d had too much fun for that to happen. Plus, he wanted to see what this pull he had toward her meant. “That video was a long time ago. I’m not that guy anymore. I promise. Just give me a minute to explain.”
