Playing It Cool: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 8)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Pamela's breath lodged in her throat when two players collided against the glass with enough force that she expected it to shatter. She belatedly realized that it wasn't actually glass, that it was thick plastic instead, which was probably a good thing or else the people down in the front rows would have been sprayed with it. They didn't seem too concerned, though, not if the way they were banging on the glass and shouting meant anything.

  The players moved away, their sticks poking and jabbing at something on the ice. Pamela turned to Anita, ready to ask her what they were doing, when a shrill whistle echoed through the chilly air. She heard a loud bang, looked down and to her right to see where the noise had come from just as Anita nudged her arm. Pamela turned back to her, frowned at the stunned expression on her friend's face.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Look!"

  Pamela turned her head in the direction Anita was pointing. "What am I looking at?"

  "Down there. See?"

  "See what?"

  Anita placed her hand on the side of Pamela's face and nudged her head an inch to the right. "There. Down at the ice."

  "I still don't know what I'm supposed to be looking at."

  "That bench down there. The one with all the players."

  "What about it?"

  "You don't see him?"

  "See who?"

  "The guy in the suit."

  "Which one? There are a few of them down there."

  "Pamela, look." Anita slid to the edge of her seat, jabbed her finger in the air as she pointed. "Isn't that Bryan?"

  "What? No, it can't be." Only now that Pamela was finally looking where Anita had been frantically pointing, she could see that it was Bryan.

  He was standing behind the row of seated players, turned slightly toward her. She saw the roll of papers clenched in his fist, saw the intensity of his expression as he focused on something happening on the ice.

  Bryan. Her date.

  Pamela was so stunned to see him that several long seconds went by as she struggled to understand what he was doing down there, instead of being up here. Anita nudged her again, her voice a loud whisper of awe.

  "Pamela, I—I think your date is the coach."

  Chapter Four

  Bryan adjusted his tie, grabbed the leather bag from his desk, then stepped out of the office. He heard steps behind him and glanced over his shoulder, swearing softly as Nelson Richards, his assistant coach, hurried to catch up to him. What were the chances that this would be a quick conversation? Considering he was already running late, probably not very good.

  "Bryan, got a minute?"

  He jammed his finger against the up button of the elevator. "A quick one. What's up?"

  "You must be more distracted than I thought." Nelson reached out and hit the down button with a grin. "You hit the wrong button."

  "Actually, I'm going up." Bryan moved the bag from one hand to the other then shot a pointed glance at Nelson. "You wanted to talk?"

  "Yeah, about the lines for tomorrow night. I'm thinking we should move Shaw to the fourth and put Jacques Roux in his place."

  "We can do that. We'll run it tomorrow morning, see how it works out."

  "Can't be any worse than tonight. Shaw's line imploded out there."

  Bryan grunted in agreement. The lack of cohesion in a line that had once been unshakeable had been painful to watch. So had most of the third period, when Rockford had scored three times and handed the Bombers a bitter 4-to-1 loss.

  Which was just one reason why he was in a hurry to get upstairs. His post-game discussion in the locker room had taken longer than he'd planned—and been angrier than he'd anticipated. He hadn't hidden his disappointment, letting each man on the team see it. They were better than Rockford, by a long shot. There was no reason for them to have been so soundly beaten, especially not in their own house.

  It wasn't just Shaw's line, though. Everyone's game had been off, even Tyler Bowie, the team's goalie. Their defense hadn't given him much help but he'd had his own issues out there tonight, too.

  The elevator door opened and Bryan stepped inside, glancing at his watch then swallowing a small groan when Nelson followed him. They both reached for the buttons at the same time, Bryan pushing the one for the concourse and Nelson hitting the one for the parking garage.

  "So why are you heading up instead of down?"

  "I'm meeting some friends." Bryan waited, silently hoping the elevator would go down first but no such luck. Shit.

  "Friends, huh?"

  "Yeah. I have a, um, date."

  "A date?"

  Bryan leveled a cool look at Nelson, annoyed at the clear disbelief in the other man's voice. "Yes. A date."

  "Anyone I know?"

  "I doubt it." At least, he hoped the hell not, especially after the fiasco of his date last night. He was still having a hard time processing the mortification of going on a date with a woman who had been with one of his players. Granted, nothing had happened—nothing would have happened, regardless—but the mortification was still there, a raw embarrassment lodged just beneath his breastbone.

  The door slid open with a small hiss and Bryan stepped off, his gaze searching the empty concourse.

  "Have fun."

  Bryan acknowledged the word with a short wave over his shoulder then headed toward the main entrance. The concourse was eerily quiet, the soles of his dress shoes abnormally loud against the worn tile. Each step echoed the beating of his heart and he realized with wry amusement that he was nervous.

  Him, nervous.

  It was an unusual feeling for him and he wasn't sure how he felt about it—but it was the truth. He was nervous.

  Nervous about the date itself. Nervous that Pamela might not be there. She'd been at the game—he'd seen her as they were heading back to the locker room before each intermission, and again at the end of the disappointing game. But would she still be here, waiting for him?

  He swore softly, once again berating himself for forgetting to include the short note in the envelope with the tickets. It had been pure luck that he had reached into his pocket near the end of the second intermission and found it. He'd quickly grabbed someone he'd seen standing around—he hadn't even paid attention to who it was—gave him Pamela's section and seat number, and asked him to deliver the note to her.

  Had she gotten it in time? Would she have stayed even if she had?

  Bryan turned the corner and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Pamela standing near the entrance with two other people, a man and a woman. The woman was the same one from the coffee shop last night, the one who had pushed an obviously uncomfortable Pamela in his direction and set everything in motion.

  All three turned in his direction as he approached, their expressions ranging from slight boredom to excitement. It was Pamela's face he was focused on, though, and he wasn't sure if the hint of nervousness he saw in her hazel eyes was a good thing or not.

  "Sorry I'm late. Things took a little longer in the locker room than I planned."

  "I bet it did." The man's laugh morphed into a cough when the second woman nudged him in the side with her elbow. Pamela ignored the couple and stepped forward, a smile that struck him as almost too professional spreading across her face.

  "Bryan, you remember Anita. And this is her husband, Gary."

  Bryan extended his arm, shook hands with first Anita, then Gary. "Nice meeting you."

  The man acknowledged the greeting with a nod. "Coach."

  "Please. Call me Bryan." He shifted the bag to his right hand and focused his attention on Pamela. He was just as surprised at his reaction to her now as he'd been last night. Not that she wasn't attractive—she was, with thick brown hair that reached past her shoulders, warm eyes in an oval face, and gentle curves on a medium frame—but there was something else about her that pulled him. He thought he'd imagined it last night, had figured the fiasco with his date had twisted his perception and made him react in a way completely out of character for him.

&nb
sp; He was oddly happy that wasn't the case.

  "Were you still interested in dinner?" He addressed the question to all three of them but his focus was on Pamela, on the way her golden eyes darted around as a small blush fanned across her cheeks. "There's a great little Italian place not far from here."

  "Anywhere works as long as there's food. I'm starving."

  "Gary!" Anita nudged him again then turned back to Bryan. "Sounds wonderful. Pam can ride with you and we'll follow."

  The blush on Pamela's face deepened as she sent an unreadable look in her friend's direction. Silent communication passed between them and for a brief second, Bryan was certain she was going to refuse—to ride with him, to go to dinner, or both. But she turned to him with a small smile and nodded.

  He led the way back to the elevator, held the door and motioned for the trio to step on ahead of him then pushed the button for the garage. Bryan gave the other man quick directions in case they got separated then led the way to his car and opened the passenger door for Pamela. He moved to the driver's side, tossed his bag on the rear seat, then quickly started the car and pulled out.

  "I apologize for the mix-up. I had planned to leave that note with the tickets. No idea why I forgot."

  "That's okay, although I do admit I was a little confused at first. I couldn't figure out why you weren't with us, until Anita spotted you." She shifted in her seat and offered him a small smile. "You could have told us you were the coach last night."

  "Sorry about that. Not sure why I didn't." He did, but he wasn't about to admit to the woman next to him that he'd been so stunned by the rapid escalation of events that his mind hadn't been focused on details. "Did you enjoy the game?"

  She nodded, pursed her lips then tilted her head to the side. "It was...interesting. I've never been to a hockey game before."

  "Hopefully you don't let today ruin your opinion of the game. We generally don't have our as—" He swallowed the word and quickly cleared his throat. "I mean, we generally play a little better than we did this afternoon."

  Conversation stalled after that and Bryan was thankful for the quiet music coming from the car's sound system. Music was a hundred times better than awkward silence.

  They reached the restaurant ten minutes later then waited outside for Pamela's friends. Five minutes after that, the four of them were seated at a table in the back corner of the restaurant, menus in hand. The conversation was stilted at first, the way it generally was when people who didn't know each other were together. The awkwardness gradually eased, becoming more comfortable as their appetizers were removed and the entrees were served.

  Bryan shifted in the chair, his gaze sliding to the woman on his right. "So why a coffee shop? I'd think that would be hard, with all the big chains to compete against."

  Pamela took a sip of her Sangria, then gently wiped her mouth with the napkin. "I've always loved coffee. The smell, the taste, everything about it. With as much as I was spending on it, I figured we'd might as well open our own place."

  "And you don't have trouble competing with the big chains?"

  "Yes and no. The first few years weren't easy and there may have been a time or two when we weren't sure if we were going to make it. We've been lucky, though, and are turning a secure profit now."

  Anita snorted then folded her arms against the table and leaned forward. "Luck has nothing to do with it. Pamela refused to quit and created a place that's relaxing and welcoming, not cold and generic. She's single-handedly responsible for making Uncommon Grounds a success."

  A blush fanned across Pamela's cheeks and she looked away, obviously embarrassed. "Not single-handed. You spent just as many days and nights working your butt off there as I did, if not more."

  "I take it you two have known each other for a while?"

  "Twenty years, ever since our last year in college." Anita slid her empty glass over to her husband, silently asking for a refill. "Pam is the best and I trust her with everything, even our kids."

  "Kids?" Bryan turned to Pam. "Do you have children, too?"

  "Who, me?" She shook her head and reached for her wine, the blush deepening. "No, no kids. Anita's are enough."

  "True, but I wouldn't give them up for anything, little terrors that they are. Just like their father." Anita nudged her shoulder against Gary then pinned Bryan with an assessing gaze. "What about you, Bryan? Any kids or ex-wife out there?"

  "No, to either."

  "So you're firmly stuck in bachelorhood, then."

  "Count your blessings." Gary muttered the words into his beer glass but they were still loud enough to hear. Anita nudged him again, still laughing.

  "I heard that. Keep it up and we'll stop by my mother's to pick up the kids instead of having the house to ourselves for the rest of the weekend."

  Gary slid an arm around his wife's shoulder and dropped a kiss against the top of her head. "Never."

  Pamela rolled her eyes then leaned toward Bryan. "You'll have to excuse them. They forget that they've been married for twelve years already. And that they're grown adults."

  "Neither of which means we can't still have fun—which is something you need to do more of." Anita winked at Bryan then slid her empty plate toward the center of the table and looked around. "Speaking of which, it's time for us old married folks to get home."

  Disappointment shot through Bryan at the thought of the evening ending so soon. He opened his mouth, searching for anything that might extend the night, but Panela spoke first.

  "Already? It's not even eight o'clock yet."

  "Maybe not but I closed last night and opened this morning, remember?" A small smile teased the corners of Anita's mouth. "There are things I want to do before I crash once we get home. You know, like—"

  "Yes, I get it. Spare us the details." Pamela pulled her purse from the back of the chair and placed it in front of her. "Fine. Let's get our bills so we can leave."

  Bryan placed his hand on her wrist. "My treat."

  "What? No, I couldn't—"

  "Dinner was my idea."

  "But—" Pamela suddenly winced and looked away with a frown aimed at her friend. Silent communication passed between the two women, ending when Pamela sighed and sat back. "Thank you, that's very kind."

  Bryan smiled to hide his disappointment then signaled for the waitress. Kind? Was that a good thing or not?

  He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

  The waitress appeared, deftly pulled a check from the black apron around her waist and slid it across the table to Bryan. Gary reached into his back pocket but Bryan waved him off as he tucked his credit card into the wallet. "My treat."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  "Wow, thank you, Bryan. We weren't expecting you to pay for ours."

  "No problem." And it wasn't. He just wished there was something he could do to keep them—to keep Pamela—from leaving so soon. Should he suggest dessert? Coffee? Someplace with music? Should he offer to drive her home or ask to see her again, right here with her friends watching?

  Or maybe that was too forward. He didn't want to embarrass her or put her on the spot—

  "You know, there's nothing saying you two need to call it a night just because we're leaving," Anita suggested. Something that felt oddly like relief went through Bryan—until he saw the uncertainty on Pamela's face.

  "We could grab dessert if you'd like. Or coffee." He shifted in the chair, wondered if he looked as eager as he felt as he waited for Pamela's answer. She exchanged another look with Anita then slowly shook her head.

  "Thank you but I shouldn't. I'm opening tomorrow so I should call it a night and get home."

  "Oh. I understand." Bryan accepted the receipt from the waitress, added a tip to the total, then quickly scrawled his name at the bottom. "Would you like a ride home, then?"

  "I can—"

  "Actually, that would be perfect." Anita slid her chair back and pushed to her feet, pulling her husband with her. "That way we don't have to double-
back to drop you off. Come on, hon, let's go."

  Gary looked as confused as Pamela. No, confused wasn't the right word, at least not for her. She looked...stunned. Embarrassed. Maybe even a little flustered as her friends walked away with a quick backward wave.

  She watched after them then turned in her chair with a little laugh. "Wow. That was awkward."

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."

  "No, don't be sorry. It wasn't you." She reached up with one hand and tucked the hair behind her ear, then offered him a small smile. "I just wasn't expecting Anita to be so...abrupt, I guess."

  "There's probably still time to catch up to them." He phrased it as a question, held his breath as she glanced in the direction her friends had taken before slowly turning back to him. Her smile widened a bit more as she shook her head.

  "No, that's okay. I mean, if that offer to drive me home still stands."

  "Of course. Absolutely."

  "Good." She nodded. Looked away. Looked back. "And since we're still here, maybe we could have that dessert and coffee you mentioned. If you're still interested, I mean."

  His gaze met hers, held it as relief and something else warmed him. "Yes, I'm definitely interested."

  Chapter Five

  Pamela leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and gently rolled the tension from her shoulders. The morning had been busy—Mondays generally were, as people bustled around and hurried to start their week—and she still had a couple of hours' worth of paperwork to finish, but for now, she could take these few minutes to relax. To clear her mind. To take a breather.

  To revel in the memories of Saturday night.

  How pathetic was it that she thought a single kiss was a revel-worthy memory? Anita was right: she did need to get out more. But it had been a lovely kiss. Soft and warm, hesitant even, as if Bryan had silently been asking her permission. It was nothing like some of the kisses she'd had on her occasional dates this past year. Most of those had been too wet. Or too hard. Or too sloppy. And none of them had left her wanting more. None of them had made her consider a second or third date to explore possibilities.