His lips quirked as if aware I was dying of curiosity.Grr.
“It’s a DIY.”
“Oh? You have plans to flip houses once the knees buckle? You know, when your joints give up because of advanced old age and such, and you can’t strut it on the ice any longer?” I taunted.
A tug of my hair had me gaping at him, my breath catching in my throat.
“I don’tstruton ice, I ram anything in my way.” A smirk tugged one side of his mouth. I rolled my eyes behind my shades. “And not old age, Blue, while I’m still young and have use of said limbs.”
That had me frowning. “I thought you liked hockey?”
“I live and breathe it,” he said. “But when I retire, I want to do something away from the public eye.”
Hence the lack of social media accounts. Jeez, he really was a private person, not counting all his fighting and hookups.
“But flipping houses?” I asked, because coaching or whatever other sports-related thing star hockey players did after retirement apparently wasn’t on his to-do list.
A shrug. “Right now, I love using my hands and getting down and dirty…” His voice lowered to a husky whisper, his shaded eyes flicking my way.
Heat streaked my face in a rush, and I hastily glanced out through the open side window. Yup, I totally deserved it, trying to dig for information. Soft laughter reached me, but he lapsed into silence again. Lesson learned. I mimicked him and just enjoyed the morning breeze.
Eventually, he took the turn to Santa Cruz. I sat up, the sight of the calm ocean and salty air caressing my face. Man, if only I could pass the day soaking up some rays and swimming instead of pulling freakin’ weeds.
The approaching vista of the boardwalk amusement park had me staring like a kid. Since my dad passed, I hadn’t been to one. My mother didn’t care for things like that. I sighed, sinking back in my seat again.
“What? Journey’s too tiring already?”
I twisted a lock of my curly hair around my finger. “Just thinking.”
“I’d ask about what, but you’d likely shut me down.”
I frowned. “I haven’t been to one of those since I was a kid.” I pointed at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk as we drove past it.
“Why would you want to go there? It’s noisy.”
“What?” I jerked upright, my jaw dropping. “Of course, it’s noisy. It’s all part of the fun. You don’t know what you’re missing.” I cast him a pitying look, but then I slumped in my seat once more, a sense of melancholy sweeping through me. “My late dad used to take me. He made it so much fun. The rides, the arcade games…” I could feel War’s stare, so I shut it.
“Very well, we have a date.”
“What? How is that a date?” I stared at him above my lowered shades.
“I’ve never been, and you miss it, so we’ll go together. A date.”
Darn. I rubbed my brow. Nope, I wasn’t going to fight him about this. He thrived on conflict. Besides, I really liked amusement parks.
A while later, War turned into a gravelly slip road, bordered by trees and underbrush on either side. Then he slowed the truck, and the massive gates to a tree-hidden property slid open. He drove along the curving driveway to a two-story house snuggled amidst a jungle, with a sloped roof of washed-out red tiles, darkened windows, and faded cream walls.
This place must have been on the market for a while. It appeared as if nature was determined to reclaim her space. The tangle of trees over the garage and the side and front of the house worried me a great deal. I dreaded to think what the back must look like. The enormous garden seriously needed landscaping people who knew their shit, not me.
“The jungle versus haunted house,” I murmured, lifting my hands like a scale, then dropping one. “Yep, the jungle’s on a definite victory path.”
“It’s not haunted.” He huffed out a laugh. “All’s good inside. Did my homework before buying. Solid foundation, no wall rot or loose electrical wires, plumbing’s in working order, etc. Nothing a little cutting back of branches and a slap of paint won’t fix.”
I narrowed my eyes at his airy attitude, but I was starting to learn little details about him. He went through every situation carefully, methodically, leaving no stones unturned in his quest to win. Hence payback for a stupid bet. Oddly enough, no matter his baiting manner, I enjoyed the drive with him.
The double garage door rolled open, distracting me from dangerous thoughts, and he smoothly maneuvered the truck inside. Shelves lined the wall in front and to the right, stacked with tools, tins of paint, bags of God knew what, and a surfboard. I removed my sunglasses and slipped them into my tote. He switched off the engine, tossed his shades on the dash, and got out, and suddenly, I became aware of the forest surrounding us—
Shit. I didn’t move, my ass nailed to the seat, my phobia freezing me.
