Playing Defense (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance)

by Aven Ellis

“No. I hate ice in drinks.”

  “How can that be? A drink without ice is wrong!”

  “No,” JP says, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  I draw my hand away in mock horror. “It’s hot here. Don’t you like cold drinks?”

  “Drinks can be cold without ice. In Switzerland, it’s rare to have a drink with ice.”

  “I can’t imagine. You have mysterious Swiss ways about you, Jean-Pierre.”

  JP leans forward across the table. “Come here.”

  I lean forward, and suddenly JP’s lips sweetly press against mine.

  I smile as I feel his soft mouth, surprised by this spontaneous romantic gesture.

  JP breaks the kiss and sits back in his seat. “You said, ‘Jean-Pierre.’ I’m supposed to kiss you whenever you say my name.”

  Oh, he’s utterly delicious.

  “I’m glad to see you don’t break promises,” I answer.

  “I don’t.”

  My breath catches in my throat. Something tells me JP is the kind of man who would never say something he doesn’t mean or make promises he couldn’t keep.

  “More disturbing information,” JP continues, interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t use the ice maker in my fridge.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “That is disturbing on multiple levels.”

  The server returns and places two glasses of wine on the tabletop. JP tells him we need more time, and he retreats, leaving us alone again.

  JP lifts his glass to me. “To sharing adventures.”

  I smile and clink my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”

  After we toast, I eagerly take a sip of the ruby-red wine.

  “Mmm, it’s dry,” I say after I drink it. “It’s good.”

  “I like dry wine,” JP says, putting his glass down. “We’re in a Turkish restaurant, so, hey, we need the full experience.”

  Yes, I think. We do.

  I ask JP for his recommendations for dinner, and we decide to order a bunch of stuff and eat family style. JP takes his food seriously, and we put together a dinner that has protein and plenty of veggies but is far from boring. In addition to our appetizers, we get shepherd salad, which is made up of cucumber, tomatoes, bell peppers, parsley, lemon, and olive oil. We place an order for two entrees. One is the hunkar begendi, which is lamb in tomato sauce, served with smoked eggplant mash; the other is the beef and lamb İskender kebab, which comes with tomato sauce, yogurt, and bread. JP also threw in an order for crispy brussels sprouts.

  I love that he knows his nutrition. As an athlete who cares about his game, I know he has to. It’s fun to be able to talk to him on this level about food, about how to enjoy it, yet make it healthy and nourish our bodies at the same time.

  We continue talking until our meals arrive, and JP and I ask for extra plates and arrange them on the table for sharing. As our server places everything down in front of us, I’m awed by the brightness of the food, full of beautiful vegetables and stunningly plated. The amazing and new-to-me aromas drift off the hot plates, and I can’t wait to dive headfirst into this gorgeous Turkish cuisine.

  I’m in food bliss.

  After the server leaves, JP watches me as I eagerly pick up my fork to start plating.

  “Aren’t you going to take a picture first?” he asks.

  I pause. Wow. I didn’t even think about taking a picture, something I’d normally do without a second thought.

  I realize what this means.

  I set my fork down. “No.”

  “Really?” JP asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he picks up his fork. “I’m surprised. This seems like a perfect pic for Real.Life.Reese.”

  “I don’t want to share this with the Internet,” I say, admitting what is in my heart. “I only want to share it with you.”

  JP doesn’t say anything. I swallow hard, trying to fight the panic building in my chest. Is this honesty too much for JP, for a man who made it clear he wants to hang out and for a man who says what he means? Is declaring how much this moment means to me too much for him to hear?

  Vulnerable.

  I made myself vulnerable to him, and as the seconds go by and he simply stares at me, I regret doing so.

  “Say my name,” he asks simply.

  My breath catches in my throat. “Jean-Pierre.”

  He leans over the plates of food and brushes his lips against mine.

  “Thank you for wanting to keep this night ours,” he murmurs against my lips.

  Electricity surges through me from his sweet kiss and even sweeter words.

  He sits back in his chair and picks up his fork. “Ladies first,” he insists.

  I know I’m beaming as I dig into the hunkar begendi.

  We aren’t taking pictures and posting it for followers, or even privately for friends. Our memories tonight will be made the old-fashioned way, in our heads. In our hearts. The night will be full of things to share and experiences only we will know.

  Chapter 18

  “I need yoga pants,” I say. “I’m so full.”

  We’ve stuffed ourselves full of Turkish food, and I swear I’m about to bust out of my jeans. It was an experience full of flavors, and it was so much fun eating with JP, I overindulged and sampled everything on the table.

  “Too full for Turkish coffee?” JP asks.

  “How is it different from American coffee?”

  “It would be more of an adventure if I didn’t tell you.”

  “You’re such a food tease.”

  JP laughs. “Are you in or are you out? The cups are small.”

  “Okay, but if my jeans button snaps off in the car on the ride home, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I’ll brace for flying buttons then.”

  I start laughing. “See? This is my problem. I’m too blunt. I should be coy on a date.”

  “Why is this a problem? It’s you. Real.Life.Reese. I would rather have this than you trying to craft answers you think I’d want to hear.”

  “Would you like to order dessert?” the server asks, reappearing at our table.

  “Two cups of Turkish coffee, please. I’ll take mine sweet.” JP glances at me. “I’d advise sweet for the first time.”

  “Same, please,” I say.

  “Would you like dessert?” the server asks.

  “I wouldn’t, no thank you,” I say.

  “No, thank you,” JP agrees.

  After the server leaves, I turn my attention to JP. “Why sweet for the coffee?””

  “It’s strong.”

  “I’d better not regret this order.”

  “If you do, I’ll take you to Starbucks.”

  Hmm. If we go to Starbucks, I get more time with JP.

  Which is all I want.

  “Does our adventure end with dinner?” I ask.

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t.”

  Ooh!

  JP’s expression grows serious. “Reese, I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Even though we’ve been together for hours now, I still want more time with you.”

  “Normally, by this point in the evening, I’m ready to go home,” I say softly. “I’d finish with coffee and say I was tired or had a modeling shoot tomorrow and needed sleep. Some excuse. I would want to escape.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t want to escape. I want our conversation to continue. I want to be with you, JP.”

  A smile lights up his face. “Well, you don’t live far from here. I can take you home but stay for a while.”

  An image of my messy apartment flashes through my head: dishes stacked in the sink and stacks of fitness magazines on my sofa. Oh dear God, do I have my bras
drip drying over the towel bar in the bathroom?

  Oh, no. No, no, no. He can’t see my place in such a state!

  As I rack my brain for an excuse, JP furrows his brow.

  “I’m sorry,” JP says quickly. “I shouldn’t have invited myself over like that.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I say, shaking my head. I cringe as things are about to get embarrassingly real for me. “It’s a complete mess. That’s why I met you at the door. I don’t want my mess to change your opinion of me.”

  The server returns with two tiny cups of coffee, placing them on the table in front of us, along with two glasses of water.

  “Reese, please don’t feel like that. I don’t care about your mess.”

  “But you’re so neat.”

  “I also hate ice in my drinks, but you don’t hold that against me just like I won’t hold your mess against you.”

  I glance down at the tiny cup in front of me, the scent of steaming coffee perfuming the air.

  “For the record, I like things messy. Including Turkish coffee. It has grounds in it.”

  “What?” I ask, bending over and peering closer into my cup, but all I see is foam.

  “It’s how they make it,” JP explains. I lift my gaze to meet his. “It’s unfiltered. Messy. Imperfect. As you can see, I like messy not only in my coffee but in my women, too.”

  Hello! The smoking chemistry between us just went up another notch.

  “This is good to know, Batman,” I say, picking up my tiny cup.

  “Have a sip of water first,” JP instructs. “To cleanse your palate.”

  I can’t help but giggle. “You’re the first man I’ve gone out with who has brought up my palate on a date.”

  JP appears sheepish, and he’s so damn cute all I want to do is lean across the table and kiss him.

  So I do.

  “That’s for being Jean-Pierre,” I murmur.

  He grins as I sit back down.

  “Okay, sip of water,” I repeat.

  We each take a sip, then pick up our delicate cups.

  “You’re supposed to linger over this coffee,” JP says. “It’s meant to be savored.”

  Savored.

  Which is exactly what I intend to do each second I’m in the company of this worldly, mature, sexy European man.

  I take a moment to inhale the coffee, which has a strong aroma. Mmm. I stare down into the tiny cup, noticing the thick foam and dark color.

  “It looks like hot chocolate,” I say.

  “It does,” JP agrees. “Are you ready?”

  “Let the adventure begin,” I say, taking a small sip.

  Immediately, I’m struck by the richness of the coffee. It’s very thick, super strong, and sweet.

  “Wow,” I say, putting my cup down. “That’s . . . different.”

  “You don’t want to drink it all the way down,” JP says. “You’ll get the grounds at the bottom.”

  I nod.

  “Different good or different bad?”

  “Definitely different good,” I say.

  Like you, I add to myself.

  “I bet if we found a YouTube video and got the right pot we could make this at home,” JP says, leaning back in his chair. “It would be a nice after-dinner ritual.”

  We.

  He said we.

  In the future tense. Buying a Turkish coffee pot, watching videos, and attempting to make this at home. Together.

  This should send me into complete panic mode.

  I should want to shove back from the table, say I suddenly have a raging headache, and ask if we can cut this short so I can go home.

  But instead, I picture us Googling YouTube videos and searching for where to buy equipment side by side on his couch. Eagerly awaiting the delivery of our packages. Playing the video in his kitchen as we try to figure out how to replicate this wonderful ritual.

  And making it our ritual.

  The only fear I have now is how badly I want this.

  I know I’m opening myself up to be hurt.

  “I love that idea,” I blurt out.

  JP grins. “Good. When we get to your place, we’ll see where we can get a cezve. That’s a little copper Turkish coffee pot.”

  “How do you know all this?” I ask, going in for my second sip of the exotic coffee.

  “You do like it. You’re going back for more,” JP says.

  “I do,” I say. “How are you so educated in the ways of Turkish coffee?”

  “I went to Istanbul on holiday once with my family. We got some from a street vendor, and he used this little pot and did it over coals. I was fascinated. When something interests me, I start reading about it.”

  “So, you fell down the Turkish coffee rabbit hole online,” I tease.

  “I’m a dork.”

  No, I think, you’re sweet.

  Charming.

  Intelligent.

  Sexy.

  “I like that about you,” I say, setting down my cup.

  “That I’m a dork?”

  “You’re not a dork. I like that you have interests and you follow your curiosity. That’s attractive.”

  Extremely attractive.

  “I’m glad you think so,” JP says, his voice expressing a hint of amazement that I do.

  “I do.”

  “Good. Then we’ll go down the rabbit hole of Turkish coffee equipment when we get to your place.”

  My place.

  My first internal response is joy over the fact that I’m going to be making out with JP again.

  Then I realize I’ll have to shovel off the sofa for us to do so.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  But there’s no way out of this now. JP is taking me home. I’m letting him inside.

  And I only hope that getting a full dose of Real.Life.Reese won’t end in him running out the door.

  Chapter 19

  I freeze as I put the key in the lock. Then I turn around and stare up at JP.

  “Give me five minutes for an emergency clean up,” I say, changing my mind about letting him into my real world.

  After all, we’ve had this amazing exotic meal and shared brilliant conversation, and now I’m going to show him how ridiculously messy I am and completely ruin his image of me?

  JP absently moves his hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. That’s not very Real.Life.Reese, is it?”

  “JP. It is. It’s Real.Life.Reese, cleaning.”

  “No.”

  Ugh.

  JP grins down at me. “It doesn’t matter. Unless you are hiding a body in there or something.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “No.”

  “There’s no shrine to another hockey player in there, with wall-to-wall pictures and candles lit?”

  “No. No shrines. I’m messy, not JPsSwissMiss.”

  JP freezes. “You know about her?”

  I flash him a mischievous smile. “Oh, I do, and I bet she has a shrine to you, Batman.”

  Now JP groans.

  “Ha-ha!” I say triumphantly.

  “We’re not talking about my fans,” JP redirects. “We’re talking about you, letting me inside your apartment.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  JP moves closer to me, sliding his arms around me and drawing me into his massive chest.

  “Then you’ll miss this,” JP says sexily, lowering his mouth to mine. His lips part mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth, moving against mine in a slow, lingering kiss as his hands slide up and sensually rake through my hair.

  Oh, my. I melt into him, my hands finding his face and feeling his smooth skin, sending a shiver of happiness down my spine.

>   JP breaks the kiss. “You’ll miss that if you don’t let me inside.”

  I bite my lip, and I see JP’s eyes are riveted to my mouth.

  He’s so coming inside.

  I quickly turn the key in the lock, opening the door. Then I turn around and grab JP, kissing him hard on the mouth.

  We move into my dark apartment, kissing desperately. His hands skim down my sides, my hands roam across his muscular back. Our kissing is hot and frantic and I can’t get enough of him. I want this. I want scorching kisses that leave my lips numb. I want them from JP.

  “I want you,” JP murmurs against my mouth before going back for another deep kiss.

  Oh, yes.

  “I want you, too,” I moan.

  I find his hair and run my fingers through it, nibbling on his lower lip, and a groan of desire escapes his throat. I’m moving backward as we kiss, and suddenly I step on something and go tumbling, taking JP with me as I do.

  Thud! I fall back and hit the hardwood floor hard, and JP lands flat on top of me, pinning me down as my head hits the floor with a bang.

  “Ow!” I cry, as my head begins throbbing.

  “Reese!” JP yells, scrambling up. “Honey, are you okay?”

  “My head,” I say, sitting up.

  JP moves behind me and runs his fingers over the back of my head.

  “I don’t feel blood,” he says. “Let me turn on a light so I can see.”

  JP gets up, but in the darkness stumbles over something and trips, wiping out next to me.

  Ack!

  “What the hell?” JP turns and picks up one of my cross-trainer shoes.

  “JP! Are you all right? I’m so sorry. We tripped on my shoes!”

  “Don’t worry about it. I need a light.”

  Mortification consumes me as JP gets up, locates the light switch, and turns it on.

  While my head is absolutely throbbing, I see that we not only tripped on my workout shoes but my yoga bag, which has flown all the way into the kitchen entry.

  I want to cry. I nearly killed JP with my inability to put my own crap away.