But I don’t care about the assist I earned in the game right now. Something else is driving me on. Maybe the realization that our firstpractice date—if you can call it that—didn’t go quite perfectly. It started a little wobbly, with me being taken aback, and her wondering if I was all in. Pretty sure I got my footing and convinced her, but this time around I want her to feel certain. Hell, she deserves to know I’m not a waffler like her asshole ex.
“Did you catch me giving you a chin nod?”
Her lips quirk up. She looks away for a second, a flash of shyness on her pretty oval-shaped face before she turns back to me. “I didn’t want to assume.”
I square my shoulders and stand a little taller, which isn’thard since I’m already six-two and right now I’m wearing skates. “Assume, Remy.Assume.”
“Then it was a very nice chin nod.”
I scoff. “Nice? C’mon. We can do better than nice.”
“Can you though?” she taunts, and oh hell, Remy does have a flirty side, a challenging side. And I like it.
“Don’t make me give you a smoldering-hot chin nod,” I warn.
She curls her lips together, like she’s holding in laughter. A few seconds later, she says, “Fine. Show me what you’ve got, Axelrod.”
I rake my gaze over her, taking in her long legs, pretty lips, lush hair, and her creamy skin. I imagine kissing that slope of her shoulder, then pushing her sweater down, and with that lust-drenched image in mind, I give my date a long, slow, lingering chin nod.
Her breath hitches. Like it did yesterday. Her chest rises and falls. Her lips part. This is so fucking fun.
“Better?” I deadpan.
She blows out a breath as she nods, slow and purposeful, like she needs to get her bearings after that eye-fucking. “Very smoldering.”
“Good. Will that work now for boyfriend material?” I ask, my voice low, just for her. “Is that in your spreadsheet? Cell C49 or something?”
“C69, but close enough,” she replies.
She went there. Holy shit, she did. “My favorite cell,” I add.
I could leave now. Really, I should. I’m a sweaty mess, and I need to change and shower. Coach’ll be in the locker room in a few minutes anyway to give his attaboy speech since we played like gods tonight. But I don’t want to leave Remy. I make another split-second decision. “Do you need a ride tonight?”
She points her thumb broadly in the direction of the arena entrance. “I was going to take the bus.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, I’m not?” she challenges.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because my teammates just gave me hell about dating you,” I say, and lest she think that’s bad, I hold up a stop-sign hand. “Because they’re assholes. It’s not because of you. That’s just what they do.”
“Okay,” she says, like she maybe believes me but not completely. “But what does that have to do with giving me a ride?”
I’m no good at this stuff—romance, courtship, and whatnot. I haven’t dated since Heather died. But I treat it like a play on the ice and throw myself into it. “Because if I had to put up with them giving me a hard time, then I want to spend a few minutes with the woman I’m dating.” Because she gave me permission, I lift a hand, tuck her hair behind her ear, and add, “Let me.”
She’s hesitant, like a cat unsure of the person offering her a treat, wondering if it’s poisoned. She takes the treat but doesn’t bite into it yet. “You can drive me home.”
I move almost as fast as I do on the ice, setting a speed record as I shower and change, then meet her at the car.
11
A HOCKEY BIRD
REMY
