“Herbrother.” Sophie gives me a chastising look.
I wince. I’ve never seen Cameron’s sister with anything but a sweet smile on her face, so her rebuke makes me feel like an even bigger asshole. For someone who looks like Tinkerbell, she can be surprisingly intimidating when needed.
With a long breath out, I force my shoulders to relax and give Maya’s brother a brief nod that’s half acknowledgment, half apology. “Nice to meet you, Elliott.”
He raises a brow. “I’m sure it is.”
I snag an empty stool from a nearby table and maneuver myself next to Maya. There’s more room on the other side of the table, but that doesn’t deter me. “You don’t think it’s a bit too early for me to be meeting the family?”
A pink flush creeps up her neck and into her cheeks.Damn. It looks cute on her. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”
I raise a hand to my chest. “You’ve been checking out my ass? I’m honored, baby.”
She gives a brief shake of her head and lowers it, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.
As a server passes by, I order a drink, then turn back to Maya and ask the question I’ve been dying to have answered. “What’d you think of the game? Way more exciting than one of your hockey romances, I’m sure.”
She rewards me with a smile. “I didn’t even consider reading, if that tells you anything.”
I preen like a fucking peacock, feathers and all, my chest filling with air and my head lifted high. A few more games and I guarantee she’ll be sporting Bobcats colors with pride.
Within minutes, Jake and Logan have made their way to our table. My single-minded focus on hockey has only intensified since Nate passed, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by my closest friends, so they don’t bother covering their surprise over my presence as well as Maya’s.
Logan zones in on Elliott, the one-named wonder, and wasteszerotime on pleasantries. “I’m Logan, and you are gorgeous.”
Elliott simply accepts the compliment with a lopsided smile.
“So, Maya,” Jake asks post-introductions. “What do you do for work?”
She nods absently, her knee knocking against mine under the table. “I write bereavement cards for Hallmark.”
Jake’s unruly chestnut hair bounces as he eyes me, then Cameron, as if he’s unsure that he’s heard her correctly. Finally, with a slow blink, he says, “Uh, um, that’s interesting.”
With a roll of his eyes, Elliott snorts. Tilting his head toward me, he says, “She once told my teacher that she tutored underprivileged zoo animals. Whatever the hell that means.”
Maya tips her head forward. “And it made your parent-teacher conference a lot more fun, so you’re welcome.”
“Why were you at his parent-teacher conference?” Logan asks, the question blunt though not unkind.
Elliott and Maya exchange a look before she shrugs. “Our mom wasn’t around a lot, so I went instead.”
Elliott looks to be a year or two out of college, and according to Maya’s LinkedIn—which I most definitely stalked—she’s twenty-eight. Yet she played parent?
Maya shifts her weight on the stool, her eyes darting away, and takes a long sip of her wine (which I didn’t realize this bar served until she ordered it). As she pulls it away from her mouth, a drop slides down her bottom lip. Her perfectly pink and plump lip that I am absolutely thinking about nibbling on.
Arousal spikes deep in my belly, but I swallow it down. Now is not the time, considering her brother is nearby. Although I won’t be surprised if he and Logan leave together sooner rather than later.
“I think it’s adorable that you manage a bookstore, by the way,” I say, leaning back in my seat.
She waves off my comment and dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “That’s because men hear the wordbooksand automatically think of a sexy librarian.”
“False.” Straightening, I shake my head. “Sort of. For the record, I do think you’d make a sexy as hell librarian, but more than that, I admire your passion for books.”
“I used to want to be an author,” she blurts out, the distinct beginnings of a flush traveling across her cheeks. “I just never found the time to pursue it.”
She glances at her brother, who’s drifted over to the bar area with Logan, the move almost enough to hide the flash of guilt that crosses her face.
My chest tightens at the idea that she might feel bad for even wishing she could do something for herself.
