by Meghan Quinn
Like an idiot.
I watch as his shoulders pull on his tight-fitting plain shirt as he chuckles, his muscles straining against the fabric. Sweet Jesus. “Cheese is a given, what else are you putting on your nachos?”
Nachos, what are nachos? All I can think about is how the program has put me through the gauntlet of hot guys.
“Noely?” Beck bends down a little. “Are you okay?”
“What?” I shake my head. “Yeah, sorry. Just thought of a segment for the morning show.” Utter lie. “My mind starts spinning with ideas when that happens. Um nachos, I like cheese and jalapenos. I keep it simple, what about you?”
Suspiciously he eyes me but answers without questioning me. “I like onions and jalapenos.”
“So you like breathing fire?”
“How else am I supposed to stay warm in this ice box? Unless . . . want to go make out in a hallway? I’m sure that will warm us up quickly.”
“Ha!” I’m feeling extremely uncomfortable. “You wish.” I take a small step back, praying I don’t bump into the person behind me just as Beck takes a step forward.
“Yeah, I do wish.” His teeth skim over his bottom lip and a deep urge to pull his lip with my teeth consumes me.
NO!
There will be no lip pulling. Think about Hayden, sweet, caring, Hayden. Sexy hockey player Hayden. Hayden, with the funny personality and bulging biceps.
“Ma’am, can I help you?”
“What?” I whip around and lose my balance over my tangled legs. Before I can faceplant it into the packages of Skittles in front of the cashier, Beck’s strong arm wraps around my waist and catches me, pulling me close to his chest.
“Watch it there, Sassy. Your face almost tasted the rainbow.”
His hand splays across my stomach and for a brief moment his thumb rubs along my skin where my tight shirt has inched up.
“Uh, thanks.” I straighten and pull my shirt down, but not before Beck gets one more rub of the pad of his thumb over my stomach. Does he want me? Did his attraction not cease either?
This is wrong. This is so beyond wrong. But it feels so good.
“What can I get you?” the cashier asks crossly, losing her patience.
“A Coors Light and nachos with extra jalapenos,” I order, nixing the Sam Adams. I can’t deal with that right now.
“And I’ll take the same but add some onions on my nachos,” Beck says, stepping beside me and handing his card. When I go to protest, he says, “For old time’s sake, let me treat you.”
As if we’re the best of friends. Out of all people to run into, why Beck, why now?
I look over my shoulder. Is Jack milling about somewhere in a dark hallway, waiting to spring out on me as well? That would be just my luck. Only with him, he would drive me insane with his incessantly proud candor and evasive comments. At least with Beck, I know exactly what he wants and his hand was mere inches above it a few seconds ago.
“Thank you,” I say as I step aside and wait for my nachos and beer. We stand there in uncomfortable silence for what seems like forever when in fact it’s a few seconds. The concession lady hands me my beer and nachos, which is covered in jalapenos—I love this stand so much—and Beck snags his as well.
“Where are you sitting?”
I point with my beer in hand toward our seats. “Five rows up from center ice.”
Beck nods with a smile. “The Jock is treating you well. Good, he better be. You’re a rare find, Noely. You deserve the best.” Leaning forward, he places a soft kiss on my cheek. “Good seeing you, Sass. You take care and if things don’t work out with The Jock, you know how to get in touch with me.” Does he really mean that? Did I misunderstand him? Should I have been more accepting that perhaps it does take time to talk through the dark, long-term issues? Maybe I expected too much of him too soon. What am I doing? Deep breath, Noely. You’re here because of Hayden, the man who wants to give long-term a shot. With me. I think.
With a wink, he takes off in the opposite direction from where I’m sitting, and I sigh with relief. Focusing my attention back to the game, I walk toward the back row of the ground-level seating, taking in the men on the ice.
From afar, they seem so small, consumed by their padding. I know that’s not the case, especially Hayden. He’s tall, built, and a machine on the ice. His thick thighs look even thicker under his padding, and his shoulders, much broader than normal.
Wanting to be there for him, I make my way to my seat where Lauren and Alex are sitting on the edge, their eyes focused on the players in front of them. I take a seat and they don’t even say anything to me. They’re in the zone, so I don’t bother mentioning their lack of beers.
I pluck at my nachos and stare out onto the ice, mesmerized with how fluid Hayden is on his skates, weaving in and out, his stick gliding along with him. He’s powerful, a force so strong I would be nervous if I was his opponent.
I never pull my eyes away from Hayden. I’m trained on him, watching every little move he makes, and when he saddles up next to a trainer and takes his helmet off, I’m infatuated. The screams of girls making themselves known are drowned out, and the buzz surrounding me fades. All I can see is Hayden, hair wet and tousled, beautiful blue eyes shining with excitement, and a smirk spreading across his face when he looks up to find me sitting in his seats. With a nod of his stick in my direction, he acknowledges me, and then takes off toward his bench.
Oh my heart . . .
Chapter Twenty-Seven
NOELY
“I think you might have killed my brother.”
Hayden laughs next to me, arm draped over my shoulder, his fresh soapy scent consuming me. “I liked him. He’s a good guy.”
“He practically humped your leg from afar.”
“Is that what he was doing? I just thought he had a nervous twitch.”
“No, he was humping you from afar. Don’t hold it against him. I’m pretty sure it was involuntary. I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”
Hayden chuckles and holds the door open to his car, helping me in. “He’s my favorite kind of fan. So passionate. They’re the best. They could have come out with us. They didn’t have to go home.”
“Yes, they did.” I take a seat. Hayden is gripping the top of my passenger side door and casually staring at me. “They were overwhelming at the game, and I don’t think I could have taken any more time with them tonight.”
“Ah, I see.” Head tilted, he grips the door tightly and asks, “If you’re tired, I can take you home.”
“Just tired of them, not of you. Let’s go get that drink.”
With a nod, he shuts my door and rounds the front of his car. I put my seatbelt on and marvel in the woodsy, yet fresh smell of his car.
When Hayden hops in the car, he says, “Uh, I’m kind of new here, where should we go?”
Laughing, I say, “You live on the outskirts of LA, right?”
“Yeah, close to Santa Monica.”
“Okay, perfect, an Uber from there won’t be too far.” I caught a ride with Alex and Lauren here. Wanting more time with Hayden is why I didn’t go home with them.
“I can take you home.”
“Don’t even think about it. That’s an hour drive from Santa Monica. No way. That’s sweet though, thank you.” I can see he doesn’t like my response so before he can counter, I add, “Don’t even think about taking me right now.”
He chuckles. “Damn, you’re good at reading minds.”
“I could see it in the way your brow creased. You were just going to start driving to Malibu now.”
He shrugs. “I don’t have to be at the weight room until eight in the morning, I’m good with driving.”
I shake my head. “Not going to happen. Let’s drive to Santa Monica. There’s a cute little bar that will be quiet, not very crowded and hopefully, you won’t be recognized too much, although your larger-than-life stature might be a dead giveaway.”
“Can’t help how I grew.”
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His response makes me laugh. I’ve never heard anyone put it like that.
For the next half hour, we make our way toward the small bar in Santa Monica, listening to the GPS on my phone and talking about the game.
Hayden was amazing, no surprise there. He looked fresh and agile on the ice, skating skillfully and easily around the veterans. His two goals brought the Quakes to their first pre-season victory. I praised his game but all he could say was they wouldn’t have won if it wasn’t for their goalie, Brett Vento. Granted, he did make some impeccable saves tonight, but you can’t win without scoring goals either, and Hayden was the one who did that tonight.
“How sweaty do you get in all that gear?” I ask as Hayden parallel parks on the side of the road, a block from the bar.
He shifts the gear to park and presses the button to cut the ignition. Pocketing his keys, he slightly tilts his head toward me and says, “Really fucking sweaty. Like, you wouldn’t want to be going out on a date with me right now if I hadn’t taken a shower.”
“Ew, really?”
He chuckles and climbs out of the car. Reaching my door in no time, he opens it for me and holds out his hand. “I know the ice is cold, but we are skating three twenty-minute periods with about fifteen pounds of equipment. We get hot as balls.”
“Makes sense. I mean, I get that you sweat, I just wasn’t aware about how much.”
“Too much to make it even the least bit sexy.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the bar. I revel in the way he takes charge, the way his hand is calloused and so large around mine. Even though his hands are gloved when he plays hockey, I can still feel the roughness of his palms from his countless years of handling a stick. And even though his hands are a little coarse, I love them. Reminds me that Hayden is very much all man.
Hayden places his hand on my lower back and guides me into the deserted bar, which is exactly what I was hoping for. I point to the back corner and say over my shoulder, “There is a booth back there, want to snag it and I can grab us a few drinks?”
“Why don’t you grab the booth and I’ll order the drinks. What would you like?”
Smiling from his gallantry, I say, “Extra dirty martini, three olives.”
“Extra dirty?” Hayden lifts an eyebrow at me. “You’re an olive juice girl?”
“Guilty.” I take off toward the booth. Sitting on the side that allows me to take in the entire room will ensure Hayden has his back to the bar, so hopefully, if someone walks in, they won’t recognize him.
I know what you’re thinking: but Noely, you’re one of the hosts for Good Morning, Malibu. You would be surprised by how many people really don’t care. I’m not idolized like Hayden is. I’m more the person you point at from afar and say, “Hey, isn’t she that girl who drinks mimosas on television?”
Yep, that’s me and damn proud of it.
Hayden walks over with my dirty martini and a beer for him. From the dark color of it, I’m going to assume it’s a beer I won’t like. I prefer light beer with fruity accents. Blueberry beer, put that in my mouth. Grapefruit? Shoot it down the gullet. Pumpkin beer, pretty much pumpkin anything, truck it on over to my beer hole.
“Thank you.” I take my drink and then nod at his. “What did you end up getting?”
“Don’t judge me, okay?”
“No promises.”
“Brutal.” He shakes his head with mirth. “It’s a peanut butter porter. The bartender swears it tastes like a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.”
“Are you serious? Does it?”
“Only one way to find out?” He brings the glass to his lips, his dark pink lips that look so soft, so freaking kissable. If only I knew what it felt like to have those lips pressed against mine, pressed against the spot that rests just below my ear, or the spot that rests below my belly button . . .
God, for the first time in my life, I’m jealous of a beer glass.
Like a voyeur, I stare at Hayden, his lips against the glass, his thick throat as he swallows the beer, and the way his eyes close when the flavor comes alive in his mouth. Hot, so freaking hot.
“What do you think?”
He takes a moment to assess. “You know”—he twists the glass in his hand—“I think I would rather be drinking your olive juice right now.” His giant body shivers as he pushes the drink away. “Reese’s my ass.”
“Let me taste.” He easily offers up his glass and I take a small sip, letting the rich and very strong flavor wash over my taste buds. And just as expected, I shiver violently while swallowing, avoiding a spit take. “Oh hell, that’s bad.”
“Like, it tastes like rotten-ass bad.”
“I have no idea what rotten ass tastes like, but if I had to choose, I would say that’s pretty close.”
Laughing, Hayden stands from the booth and takes his glass to the bartender who understandably pours something new and lighter. I’m assuming it’s his go-to by the way he drinks it on the way to our booth.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks when he’s settled in the booth across from me.
“I did, thank you so much for inviting us. And before you even ask, I had the nachos, extra jalapenos.”
“My kind of girl.” He tilts his beer in my direction and takes a sip.
The entire way over here, we talked, joked, and enjoyed each other’s company. It was a wonderful drive, but lacking one major thing: sexual chemistry. And it’s not from not trying. We have our moments here and there, like when he holds my hand, or presses his hand against my lower back, or when I catch him checking me out. But those moments are few and far between.
There is something holding him back and I want to know what it is. Now the question is, how do I go about talking about it without being too direct?
Mulling over my options, I ask, “Do you like me?”
Okay, maybe I could have been a little more subtle.
“What?” He chuckles. “Do I like you? That’s an odd question to ask. Of course I like you, or else I wouldn’t be here with you. Why do you ask?”
Yeah, that was a weird question, an uncomfortable one for sure. But leave it to me to make things awkward.
I spin the stem of my martini glass, staring at the olives, a little too embarrassed to look Hayden in the eyes. “I don’t know. I know you wanted to take things slow, but it almost feels like we’re more like friends than a new couple. You’ve been to my place twice now, at night, and not even a little kiss.”
His lips press together and his brow creases, looking slightly upset over my assessment. Running a hand over his face, he says, “It’s not you—”
“Oh God, the classic it’s not you, it’s me line.” I lean back in my seat, waiting to hear the reason why he’s been so slow on the old intimacy. Even worse? I know. In the back of my mind, even though I really like Hayden, he’s about to call things off.
“I don’t mean for it to sound cliché.”
“I know you don’t, but man, does it still sting.” I take a large gulp of my martini and stick all three olives in my mouth. Snapping in the air, I get the bartender’s attention and press my palms together, praying he brings me another. With a curt nod, he gets to work. Such a good man.
“Let me explain, Noely, before you get upset, or get drunk. I mean, I do like drunk Noely, but I’d rather you be present for this conversation.”
Should I tell him I’ve already checked out?
Trying to act like an adult, I sit back again. “What’s going on, Hayden?”
Sucking a deep breath, he stares into his glass and takes a moment before he answers. “During the off-season, I spent the last few months on the East Coast in my hometown. I spent a lot of time with my good friend who introduced me to this girl.” Ugh, I knew there was someone else. It’s so obvious he’s hung up on another girl. I should have pinpointed it the first night. But thanks to too many drinks, I couldn’t read Hayden very well. But now, it’s clear.
“You don’t need to say anything else. I get it.
”
Trying to tamp down the crazy that’s starting to pop out of me, Hayden places his hand over mine and squeezes it. “Please let me talk.”
Why does he have to sound so sweet? I almost wish he was an asshole, because what he’s about to tell me would be so much easier to swallow if I could blame it on that. But once again, I can’t. This is on me not being the one. “I’m sorry, go ahead.”
Keeping his hand firmly planted over mine, he continues, “I met this girl, and she was different. A little outlandish, spoke what was on her mind, and she kind of captured me. She was different than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“She sounds lovely,” I grit out, hating every second of this. Please, Hayden, please continue to tell me how great this girl was.
A little heavy on the sarcasm there.
“She was. We had a bit of a fling and went all-in, both knowing what we were doing was going to end since I’d been traded to LA. But knowing this, we were still all-in, spent almost every waking hour with each other when she wasn’t working or I wasn’t training. And then the time came to say goodbye.” He shakes his head, pain etching his features and even though I don’t really enjoy listening to the guy I’m dating talk about another girl, I feel sad for Hayden. It’s so clear this girl has a hold on him. And yet, she might not even know.
“She walked away easily, a reaction I wasn’t prepared for. I was kind of hoping, after our months together, that maybe she’d consider moving to LA.”
“But she didn’t . . .” I finish for him.
Lips pressed together, he shakes his head. “She didn’t. I told myself it was okay, that what we had was just a fling. But I know deep down, the feelings I had for her that were going to take a long time to shed.”
“Is that why you joined the Going in Blind program? To get over her?” I am starting to get a little pissed here. But I will try to hear him out. Why the hell did I have to be matched with three men who weren’t in any way ready to settle down? My role for Hayden Holmes was to help him get over someone else. Yay, me.
“That and to meet new people, to maybe find someone to take my mind off her.” He sighs. “And then I met you.” Well, be still my racing heart. Even though his words are sweet, I can still see the trepidation in his eyes.