“Yeah.” I think back to what happened when I was eighteen. I thought my hockey career was done. But I don’t like talking about that, because it’s a downer. “But it worked out.”
“Yeah, it did.”
“My family encouraged me,” I say truthfully.
“Family’s important.”
“It is.” I take a gulp of my drink and eye her over the rim. “If I said I’d like to score on you tonight, would you think I was being too forward?”
She laughs out loud. “Cute.”
I take her hand and tug her along with me as I head toward the exit of the bar.
“Um… where are we going?” she asks, although she’s not resisting.
“Somewhere quieter.”
2
NIKKI
This guy is a charming sweet talker, lighthearted and fun. But should I trust him?
I’m not into hockey players. Grayson and his friends played hockey. I was forced to sit in a minivan full of hockey gear emanating the most disgusting smell known to humanity, and listen to their stupid chirping. I played hockey because I love the sport, but boy hockey players—no, thanks.
But this man… I am powerfully drawn to him. Not just because he’s a hockey player. That doesn’t hurt; I watched him on the ice tonight and wow, he’s good. He’s strong and talented, with amazing hands, remarkable agility, a great skater. That’s definitely attractive. But there’s more to it than that. He’s effortlessly confident, strolling over to us earlier with athletic ease and a slow, boyish smile. He’s charming and funny and oh so likable.
Last night at the draft, I wanted him on our team. And when he bounded up onto the stage and greeted me with a handshake and a huge grin, I couldn’t take my eyes off the dimples that bracketed his smiling mouth and the russet hair curling out from beneath his baseball cap. The attractive way his eyes creased up when he smiles.
The way he looked at me was warm with interest, and yet he’s been totally respectful. I don’t get a creepy vibe at all from him, and I have pretty good instincts. I get looked at that way a lot. It’s tiring, really. It comes with the territory. And it’s really hard to know what’s real and what’s not. I feel like he’s real.
So I follow him.
He leads the way through the baccarat room to a lounge hidden away at the back and guides me to a small nook. The padded bench is crowded with cushions and heavy drapes curve over each side.
I give him an amused look as I sit. “You meant what you said.”
“Where did you think I was taking you?” He slides in next to me. “My room?”
“That did enter my mind.”
“So… are you relieved? Or disappointed?”
I slowly move my head from side to side, a smile tugging my mouth. “Maybe both.”
“Ah. Relieved, though? Really?” His mock affront is cute.
My smile spreads. “I mean, wejustmet.”
“True.”
A waitress in a skimpy black dress arrives at our table and sets paper coasters in front of us. “Hi.” She gives Marek a warm smile. “How are you tonight?”
“We’re great, thanks.” He looks at me. “Need another?”
We order more drinks and the waitress disappears.
“My family pushed me to keep going, too,” I tell him, picking up our earlier conversation. “Sounds like we both have supportive parents.” Well. Calling my parents supportive might be distorting things a little. Better words might be pushy. Aggressive. Ambitious.
