“Relax. If it helps, I think when eyes land on us, it won’t be because of me, it will be you.”
One last examination of Keats and he appears somewhat as a normal person again, complete with compliments.
Ten minutes later, we are at the training facility and head inside to a room where they must hold a lot of events. I’ve been to enough games to know that a hockey game isn’t just a game, it’s a night full of food, games, and the need to enter raffles.
I’m lucky that the buzzing room doesn’t take much notice of us. That’s kind of a good thing because then they would notice how Keats’s hand is gingerly touching my lower back to guide me toward a waiter walking around with a tray of wine glasses.
Except his need to touch me is a tangled mess of confusion in my head. This is all an act, except somewhere human nature has a desire for it to be possession. My spine straightens at the thought.
Keats takes two glasses of white from the tray and offers me one. “You just assume I like white?” A tinge of attitude is underlying in my voice, but it’s purely for banter.
He has a droll smile when he taps his glass to mine. “No. I just remember you pulled out a bottle of white the other day before changing game plans for the vodka.”
“Oh.” That’s true. Apparently, my neighbor is a sucker for little details.
“Keats.” A man approaches us from behind and grips Keats’s shoulder as a greeting.
“Hey, Declan.” Keats smiles then turns to me. “This is Declan Dash, he owns the Spinners.” Declan seems to look curiously between us.
“This is my girlfriend, Esme.” Keats pulls me closer to his side, his arm looping around my waist, and Iremind myself to swallow my disdain that seems to be vanishing.
“Nice to meet you.” I shake Declan’s offered hand. Keats seems intent to keep his arm in place, and a thump in my chest picks up speed.
It’s a friendly introduction, and I guess I will need to get used to this for the next few hours.
“My wife is here somewhere. I’m sure she would love to talk to you.”
“That would be lovely.”
And sure enough, I’m deposited next to a woman with dark hair and a friendly smile. It only takes a minute before Violet is talking my ear off, and she seems like fun, so I don’t mind.
“Trust me, having kids when your husband is so committed to the team makes the moments we get together all the more special. It also means I live off dry shampoo since I’m with the kids the most.” She grins to herself then takes a long sip of her drink. “What about you and Keats? Long-term plans?”
I nearly choke on the small cheese pastry appetizer that I picked up from a tray that was floating through the room. “Oh, uh, no. Definitely no kids.” A nervous laugh bubbles up. “Besides, he’s married to the law,” I remark, but really, I have no idea his family plans.
Violet’s face becomes doubtful. “Huh. I see him at the Dizzy Duck Inn in town because his sister works there. Totally seems like a kids kind of guy. Or at least with his little nephew he is.”
I smile tightly in agreement and decide to change topics. “You must watch a lot of hockey then, I guess?”
Her face lights up. “Of course. I have Declan, and my brother used to play hockey too, then my nephew is captainof the Spinners. It’s never-ending. Even the dog has been trained to chase a puck on the ice.”
Laughing, it’s infectious when people appear out-of-this-world happy. “Sounds like family dinners are hectic yet perfect.”
Warm, fun, and new to me too.
That’s a vision that frequently pops into my head. I just haven’t decided why I don’t have an overpowering need to find the right person, nor has it crossed my mind about having kids anytime soon.
We continue our conversation about shopping and day trips to Chicago. The whole time, my eyes occasionally snag a look with Keats who always seems to meet my gaze at the same time. There are soft smiles, a few winks, and a suave hint on his face that is causing a situation between my legs.
When our two hours comes to a close, we even walk back to his car in silence, yet his hand wanders to my lower back to guide me. It’s not to tease me, either. The man has manners and can be a gentleman, and I don’t think it’s to play a part.
It’s only when his hand drops away and he circles around the car that we return to normal us.
“Not going to open the door for me?” I chide as he opens his own door.
“Nope. No unrealistic expectations, remember?”
Really? Like really, really? He just drops his manners at the first chance.
