“You couldn’t have known how little time you’d have with him.”
She lifts a shoulder. “All the more reason to affirm my commitment to Peter now—while we’re both alive and well and able to be happy together. And the more reason to eschew a lavish event. I’ve had that. I don’t need it again.”
“What about him? What does he need?”
It’s like he’s been listening in. Heck, maybe he has been. Maybe he sort of fell into the habit of eavesdropping through the years. Peter joins us with a plate of sandwiches. “What do I need? A marriage license and a band on my finger. Everything else is window dressing as far as I’m concerned.”
Grandmother gives me a wry smiles. “If he had his way, we’d go to city hall this very day and get it over with.”
Get it over with? “Careful. I might swoon.”
Peter only laughs in an indulgent sort of way, gentle as he usually is. “The outcome is the same regardless. The next day, we’ll be husband and wife. And the day after that and so on. How many people are fortunate enough to be that happy?”
Grandmother’s practically glowing. I can’t help but feel silly, trying to push the idea of a big wedding when the two of them are clearly thrilled just to be sitting next to each other, holding hands.
And how lucky she is, to have found a man who seems totally uninterested in her wealth. I guess there was no other way for her to find a man who’d love her just for herself—ironic really since she’s prickly, even on a good day.
But that was the way it needed to be. He loves her for herself. He’s not some fortune hunter. He put in three decades, almost four, and he took wonderful care of her the entire time. I don’t know how else he could’ve proven that he doesn’t care about the money and social position.
With that in mind, I put the rest of the magazines aside. “Whatever you want, I’m behind it. Though seriously, I’d appreciate an invite.”
“As if we wouldn’t invite you.” Grandmother rolls her eyes and looks at Peter. “I suppose we could open the guest list to include my only grandchild.”
“Whatever you want, dear.” He winks at me in that conspiratorial way he always has. Like the two of us are in on a secret, and aren’t we lucky?
We are. We definitely are.
“Now, there’s only one thing left to do,” he continues, looking my way.
“What’s that?” I’m thinking, picking out wedding bands or something like that.
“We have to find you someone who’s suitable marriage material.”
Did I just consider myself lucky a few moments ago? Shouldn’t I know better by now?
After just about choking on my tea, I manage to sputter, “No, thanks. I’ll take care of that on my own one day. And I think the two of you are spending too much time together, so long as we’re airing grievances.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I should’ve known this was the sort of place we would end up on our first date.
“Is this okay with you?” Luke pulls out a chair for me, one facing the row of TVs mounted on the wall of the sports bar.
There are different games, pregames, and postgames playing on each screen. Talk about information overload. I don’t know where to look.
I decide to look at him since that’s where I would be looking if we were in a more intimate setting.
“This is great.” Sure, I might be gritting my teeth as I smile, but I’m trying to go with the flow.
A sports bar isn’t exactly my idea of a fabulous date location, but the man’s life seems to revolve around sports, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
Though next time, I’m going to choose the location.
“I figured we could relax and just get to know each other here.” He signals a server before sitting down, dazzling me with that easygoing smile of his. That smile alone is enough to make me forget a multitude of sins.
And his body helps with the rest. I’ve never considered myself shallow, obsessed with a man’s looks, but let’s face it. The man is jacked. And the V-neck T-shirt he’s wearing doesn’t leave much to the imagination, tight around the biceps and chest.
A chest I would love nothing more than to rest my head against and fall asleep. Preferably after doing fun things together.
“So, who’s playing tonight?” The place is crowded, meaning there’s probably a big game going on. Then again, what do I know? Some folks just love sports, any sports, and it doesn’t matter if the games are high stakes or not.
“It’s the playoffs.”
“Baseball?” I take a glance at one of the screens to confirm this for myself.
“Hey, so you do know something about sports.”
“Yes, I occasionally stick my head out of my cave.”
“Okay, in all seriousness, what’s it like to be a writer?” He leans in, arms folded on the table. There’s a definite glow in his eyes, like he’s really interested in the answer I’ll give.
Once you’ve been in the game as long as I have, you learn the difference between people who genuinely want to know what your life is like and people who only want their idea of your life confirmed. Those are generally the same people who think writing romance is nothing but writing sex and drinking champagne and eating chocolates all day.
Now, listen, I’m a big fan of both champagne and chocolate, but that’s not the whole of it.
With that in mind, I offer a rueful smile. “It’s more work than people think it is.”
He nods slowly. “I’m sure it is. Honestly, I’ve always admired people who can create an entire world out of thin air. I mean, you have to dream up every single character in your book, and then you have to do it again and again. I can’t imagine what that must be like.”
“A lot of people don’t see it that way. They think it’s all fun—and it can be. I mean, there are days when I really do feel like I’m working magic. When everything flows without too much effort—that’s when you know you’re on the right track, you know what I mean? When everything seems to happen almost effortlessly.”
“Yeah, I do. I have great days, where every shot lines up perfectly, and then some days, it’s a real grind, a struggle. There are times when I have to talk myself into even lacing up my skates. That’s something I don’t think many people understand. Nobody feels like getting up and doing their job every single day. Not even athletes.”
“I guess that’s even worse if you’ve been hurt, huh?”
Something glows behind his eyes, a spark of something new. Excitement maybe or maybe just the satisfaction of being understood without having to try too hard. “Exactly. And then if we can’t play because we work too hard or get hurt, we’re the ones to blame.”
“Just like my fans could devour every single one of my books and tell me how much they love my writing, but God forbid I’m late on a deadline. All of a sudden, I’m no good.”
He laughs, clapping his hands together. “You get it! Wow, for once, I’ve found someone who gets it.”
Who wouldn’t warm up under that sort of praise? “It looks like we have common ground even though our professions are so completely different.”
“Seems like we do. I wonder what else we have in common.”
His fingers brush over the back of my hand as he reaches for a menu, and I have to ignore the tingle that runs up from my wrist and all the way to my shoulder.
I’m not in this for a boyfriend. I’m not in this to fall in love. I’m doing this for work. If I happen to enjoy myself in the meantime, that’s great, but I can’t lose sight of the big picture. Not like I did before.
“So, what do you do for fun?” He glances up from the menu with a smile.
“Fun? What is that?”
“Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t get out and enjoy life.”
“What about you, Mr. Practices Four Hours Every Day?”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “Nope. I asked you first. You don’t get to turn the tables on me that quickly.”
“Fine. I go out. Drinks with m
y best friend, that sort of thing, but I’m mostly busy with my work.” He doesn’t need to know about weeks spent idling around my apartment or going for endless walks in Central Park. Or the multiple men I’ve dated for the sake of my career. There are some things I’d prefer not to share.
“So, you don’t go out all that much?”
I shake my head.
“And here we are, with something else in common.”
“You’re a driven person. You focus a lot of your energy on your goals. It’s only natural.”
His smile widens further. “Man, I should bring you around more often, so you can be my translator. I try to explain what you just said, but it never comes out the right way.”
Our server brings us a couple of beers, and they go down way too easily. Now that we’re talking and opening up, I like the fact that this is where he chose for us to have our first date. We’re relaxed, and there isn’t all of the unspoken expectations on either of our shoulders.
“So, let me guess.” I look him up and down, stroking my chin the way he sometimes strokes his beard. “You get a lot of flak from people who don’t understand why you spend so much time on the ice.”
“You could describe it like that, yes.” And the way he grimaces tells me it’s a little more serious than that. “Though it’s not just being on the ice. I’m training, working out, running. Everything’s directed toward my ultimate goal.”
His intensity isn’t intimidating. In fact, it’s sort of cute. Charming. Though nobody would ever refer to him as cute with a straight face. Hot, more like it.
“Who doesn’t understand? Family? Friends?”
“Most of my friends are on the team, so it’s my family more than anybody else. They’re proud of me, and they want me to reach my goals, but they also don’t want to see me get burned out, so my mom always harps on me to take enough breaks so that I won’t overdo it.” He turns his glass around and around on the table, his jaw tightening.
“For what it’s worth, I get a lot of the same flak from my grandmother. She’s my only living relative, so—”
He winces, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining.”
“Of course you should! I mean, it’s your life. This is your reality. Don’t get the wrong idea. Just because my parents aren’t with me anymore doesn’t mean I can’t relate to family pressure.”
“Now, I feel like a real dick for complaining.”
“Listen, I can complain about my grandmother until the cows come home. The woman can be impossible. But I love her. Besides, I don’t think anything you said was complaining. You’re frustrated, and you’re sharing with somebody who can relate.”
He looks me up and down. “I can’t believe Ryder got lucky enough to have a neighbor like you. And I can’t believe I got lucky enough that he brought you to practice.”
“Let’s get this straight. You got lucky that I ended up having to write about hockey players this time around.” I give him a wink and a smirk before taking a sip from my beer.
“Okay, I see how it is.” At least he’s smiling again. “I hope this isn’t all about that though.”
“That remains to be seen.” I’m trying to take a page out of my grandmother’s book here, trying to seem playful yet distant and fully in control of the situation.
And it's working; I can tell. But he’s an athlete, one who sets a goal for himself and goes nonstop to reach it.
Is he thinking about me as a goal? A goal to be achieved?
Do I want to be one?
There’s a burst of noise, pulling our attention away from each other and toward the rowdy guys watching the game. One of them backs away from the TV, shouting profanity with a beer in one hand.
A beer that, naturally, he spills all over me.
I jump up, gasping, and luckily manage to avoid the worst of it. I end up with some of it on my jeans and blouse and reek of a brewery, but it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened—hello, sprained ankle and skinned knees.
Clearly, Luke feels differently about things. “Yo, man! What the hell do you think you’re doing? You realize you’re not the only person here, right?”
If the beer spill didn’t attract attention, his shouting definitely is.
“It’s not that big of a deal—” I might as well not even be speaking.
I almost feel sorry for the guy, who is clearly half-drunk already and had no idea what he was doing when he stumbled against our table. Luke’s a good head taller than him and a lot more muscular. This poor dude wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles and then hands me a wad of napkins. “I’m sorry.”
“Accidents happen.” I do everything I can to make the man feel better since it’s obvious he’s embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it.”
Once he moves off, I turn to Luke. He hasn’t calmed down at all. “Really. I’m fine. He didn’t mean to—”
“He should have been the one apologizing to you. Not the other way around.” He’s still glaring at the back of the man’s head—a head which, I’ve noticed, is farther away than it was before. He’s probably afraid of Luke.
Frankly, seeing how quickly his temper flared, I can’t entirely blame the guy.
“And he did apologize.” I do the best I can to mop up my clothes, and a server joins us and cleans up the table. “Sometimes, you just have to accept an apology and move on. And I didn’t apologize to him.”
“Don’t let yourself get walked on. That’s one thing I can’t stand—when people walk over other people.”
There’s more noise surrounding the game, and I guess I could raise my voice over it, so he would hear me, but it doesn’t seem worth it now. I’m not going to stand here and have an argument over this.
“You know what? This is really nice, but I think I want to go home and change into something that’s dry.”
His tone changes in a heartbeat. “Wait, don’t leave because of this.”
“I’m not.” That’s a lie. I’m definitely leaving because of this.
We were having a nice time until that happened. If he could’ve laughed it off or at least helped me clean up, things might’ve turned out differently.
I mean, I’m the one who stinks like hops and yeast. Not him.
“Can I see you home at least?” He quickly pays for our beers before following me out of the bar.
“I was going to walk. It’s not very far.” I don’t want to necessarily shut this down before I have a chance to learn about the sport, what it’s like to be a player, and especially what it’s like to date one.
And he does seem like a decent person—when he isn’t flying into a temper tantrum.
We walk a block in silence with me asking myself whether this is a complete mistake. Work or no work, I’m not going to ignore red flags for the sake of my career. I ignored enough of them with Paxton, and I can see that now. I can’t keep making the same mistakes again and again.
Luke’s the first one to speak after crossing to the next block. “Can I tell you something? And you’re free to say no if you don’t want to hear anything from me after the jackass I just made of myself back there.”
I look at him from the corner of my eye. “At least you can admit that.”
“I know it was wrong, and I am truly sorry. It’s not even so much the situation we were in at that moment that set me off. I’m not saying this to excuse myself since I should’ve handled it better. I wasn’t even the person who had the beer spilled on them.”
“That’s true.”
He’s quiet for a second, too busy taking a deep breath before speaking, “I have a twin brother.”
“Okay.” Not sure what that has to do with anything, but I imagine he’ll tell me.
“He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It hasn’t been easy. The accident happened when we were kids. And ever since then, it’s like our lives have gone on two different trajectori
es. But he’s still my best friend. And he’s exceptional in everything he does—he plays in a wheelchair basketball league, all kinds of things like that. But, there are a lot of ignorant people in the world. Especially when you’re a kid—other kids can be cruel and thoughtless. There’ve been a lot of times when he was ignored, looked past, talked over. So many people in restaurants have tripped over his chair or banged into him from behind and spilled something on him.”
I’m starting to understand why he’s telling me this.
We stop at a red light, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders are up around his ears, his chin tucked in, like he’s embarrassed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to hit somebody for what they did to him. He always handles it well. He’s much more even-keeled than me, but I know it still bothers him.”
“I really am sorry he has to go through that. People can be so thoughtless.”
“I flashed to that when that guy got beer on you. There’s no excuse for it. It’s something I have to work on. I’m too protective of my brother, and that sort of spills over sometimes.”
“No pun intended,” I offer with a tiny smile.
I can see the relief written all over his face. “Yeah, no pun intended.”
“I really do understand, and I’m glad you told me about your brother. Now, I don’t have to wonder if you have anger management issues.”
“No, I can’t remember the last time I got into a fight off the ice.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What about on the ice? Do you do a lot of that?”
“I try not to.”
But I know by his sheepish grin that he does his share. Still, he doesn’t strike me as someone who gets off on being violent, so I won’t give him a hard time.
“I get it. I really do. But like I said, I’m fine. Sometimes, you have to let people fight their own battles too.”
“I’m not very good at that. I’m always the one who tries to fix things for everybody. I guess that’s what I do in my free time when I’m not on the ice.”
I can tell that my laughter makes him feel better, and that makes me feel better. His heart was in the right place—at least, that’s how it seems—and I can’t hold it against him if he gets overly protective.
Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player Page 5