Faceoff

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Wait, wait . . . ” Clint pulled back and gave her a look, his hands going to her waist. “You guys bought your tickets?”

  “Yeah . . . ” Bree laughed at his expression. “Why, were we not supposed to?”

  He shook his head, grinning. “From now on, your name will be on a list at Will Call. I get four seats a game, and if my parents aren’t in town, they are all yours.”

  “And if they are in town?”

  Clint brought his brow to hers again, his steel-blue eyes holding her hazel ones captive. “You always have a ticket. You hear me? Always.”

  Her heart was going to cartwheel out of her chest and break into a dance routine somewhere behind her, she was sure of it.

  She wet her lips carefully, forcing herself not to grin like an idiot. “So you want me to hang around, huh?”

  He grunted softly and brought his lips to press a kiss against her brow. “Yeah, Bree,” he murmured, his lips warm against her skin. “I want you to hang around.”

  Inhale . . . Exhale . . . Inhale . . . Exhale . . .

  “Okay,” she whispered, the grin taking over anyway.

  “Okay.”

  Her lips began to buzz, and her knees began to shake. She wanted to arch up and kiss him, wrap herself up in him, do something about the aching need constantly gnawing at her whenever he was around. Her pulse pounded, and she could feel Clint’s breathing growing as uneven as hers was.

  “Bree . . . ”

  Yes . . .

  “Hey, Fido!”

  Bree could have growled at whoever was interrupting this moment. Couldn’t they see this was not something to get in the way of?

  Clint exhaled roughly and turned to whoever it was, keeping his arm around Bree’s waist. “Chezzy?”

  A broad-chested ginger-haired guy with a big grin was heading towards them, and Bree had the sense this guy knew exactly what was going on there. He had chosen to break it up and was getting a kick out of this.

  Jerk.

  But there was no arguing with that smile, and for all Bree’s scowling, she found herself managing a small smile for the newcomer.

  “Wanna get some food?” Chezzy asked in all-apparent innocence, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. He looked at Bree, and the smile turned more mischievous. “Hi. John Cheswick.”

  Bree nodded once. “Bree Stone. Nice to meet you.”

  “Same.” Chezzy returned his attention to Clint expectantly. “You in?”

  Clint shook his head, still smiling. “No thanks, man. I’ve got plans tonight.”

  Chezzy did not seem at all surprised and shrugged. “Too bad. Maybe next time.” He smiled at Bree and raised two fingers in a sort of wave. “Have a good night, Bree.”

  “You too, John,” she said back, bemused by this guy who reminded her so much of the Six Pack.

  Clint dropped his arm from Bree’s waist and returned to his bag, picking it up and coming back to her, gesturing for the parking lot. “You ready?”

  She nodded, slipping her jacket on. “So,” she said after a moment, “you have plans? What are they?”

  “Whatever you want,” Clint told her without hesitation. “I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”

  Be still, her pathetic heart.

  She smirked in his direction. “I don’t have any plans either.”

  Clint slipped his hand into hers and laced their fingers together as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Well, let’s get out of here for step one.”

  She held his hand tightly, rubbing her thumb against his skin. “Good idea. Step two?”

  “Don’t rush me. I’m working on it.”

  “Sorry.”

  They walked in companionable silence towards his car, Bree, for one, unable to stop smiling.

  “Did you really not know that hockey is played in periods?” Clint suddenly asked, his tone full of unshed laughter.

  “Hey!” she protested. “Not a hockey family, not hockey fans. I’ve only been ice skating maybe once in my life, okay?”

  “What?” He shook his head in dismay. “If it weren’t so late, I’d take you to a rink right now. This is not okay.”

  “Neither is keeping a girl waiting after a game, but . . . ”

  “I didn’t know you were here! You gotta text a guy these things.”

  “Next time you’ll know, right?”

  “Next time I’m running from the ice right to you, no excuses.”

  Bree leaned against him, hugging his arm to her with her free hand. “Sweet thought, but a shower is okay. I saw you after the game, and that was a lot of sweat.”

  Clint chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Can’t have it both ways, babe. Either I’m fast, or I’m clean and I smell good. Pick and choose.”

  She inhaled the scent of him pointedly, then sighed. “Smelling good is fantastic. Let’s go with that.”

  “You got it. You come to the game, I’ll come out of it smelling however you want.”

  “Deal.”

  His phone would not stop buzzing, and it was getting really annoying.

  It was funny—hilarious, even—but annoying.

  It was probably making up for lost time, but Clint had never thought that the Northbrook guys were all that chatty.

  In the last few days, they could have passed for a pack of high school girls. The moment one of them sent a selfie doing the stupid duck-lips pout, he was blocking all of them. Every single one.

  Which one would take that selfie?

  Clint thought about that as he drove towards Bree’s apartment, the idea giving him more enjoyment than it should.

  Zane, he decided. It would absolutely be Zane.

  When he reached a stoplight, he pulled his phone out of the cupholder and looked at it.

  “The Pit?” he said out loud, looking at the new name at the top of the group text. “What in the world?”

  He scrolled back through the messages to figure out where that had come from.

  Jax: Sup, guys. CRAZY workout today. Can’t feel my legs.

  Zane: And we care . . . why???

  Jax: You’ll care when we own you guys next month, Zamboni.

  Zane: Bring it, Flyboy.

  Trane: This is cute.

  Dice: Barf.

  Rocco: Don’t take this the wrong way, but I might start sharing pics of my food if this keeps up.

  Zane: So help me, Rock, if you turn this group text into a preteen Snapchat . . .

  Rocco: Ha, just because you eat mac and cheese four days a week and can’t boil water.

  Jax: Since when do you cook, Rock?

  Rocco: . . . I’m Italian, idiot.

  Trane: NO WAY. Why didn’t you tell us?

  Dice: In all seriousness, Rock, if you have recipes that are less than twelve steps, I’ll take them. Always looking for good food.

  Zane: I’m pretending you didn’t say anything that reminds me of my stepmother’s recipe group.

  Jax: Haha, we could call this group Your Mom’s Recipes.

  Zane: No.

  Trane: Why are we naming it?

  Rocco: Makes the group easier to find on your phone. Duh.

  Dice: If this group is named anything, it better be totally masculine. I’m not associating with something I can’t admit to in public.

  This group’s name has changed to The Pit.

  Rocco: Who did that?

  Zane: What the . . . What does that even mean?

  Trane: Means you need deodorant, bro.

  A honk broke Clint out of his almost hysterical laughter reading over his texts, and he looked up to see a green light. He waved an apologetic hand to the car behind him and drove through the intersection, replacing the phone on the seat beside him.

  Ever since that game on the ice with his old teammates, they’d stayed in contact on an almost-daily basis. Some were more talkative than others, but they were all involved. Sometimes they shared stupid things, sometimes comments about each other’s games, sometimes randomly pitching ideas for
the club. There wasn’t much they’d settled on, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  Clint, for one, was strapped for ideas. He’d spent a full hour on the phone with his brothers just the night before in a complete brainstorm session. As they all lived in the Chicago area, they promised to look into some local options and get back to him. Grizz had offered to talk to some of his teammates on the Flames, but Clint wasn’t sure they needed to do that quite yet. Jax was in Chicago, too, after all, and the hockey team might be in a better position to help a hockey club.

  Grizz was adamant that the specific sport didn’t matter; Clint agreed but wanted to give Jax the opportunity first.

  He hadn’t really told Jax the idea of using his team, the Flyers, to help the club, but surely that would occur to him.

  If worse came to worst, he could always ask Cole Hunter from the Six Pack. Cole had a fortune independent of his baseball earnings, and a good investment in an athletic program that was once so involved in the community might intrigue him.

  But again, reaching out to the Six Pack, as close as they were, as much as he respected them, seemed a little needy.

  Desperate.

  Mooching.

  Clint wrinkled up his nose as he pulled into Bree’s parking lot. Surely there was a way for the group to figure this out without asking their friends for money.

  Like Jax had said before, just having the money wouldn’t sustain the program.

  So what would?

  Shaking his head, Clint climbed out of his car and walked up the path to Bree’s apartment, forcing his worries over the program into the background. Tonight was about Bree and him, and he was going to make it special. He needed to make sure Bree knew that she was special to him, that she was important to him, and that he was invested in them.

  In her.

  In wherever this led.

  There was no point in fighting this attraction to her, this need to be with her; it was as natural as the air he breathed and twice as refreshing. He’d never been in a relationship like this, and he wondered how anybody who had experienced it ever wanted anything else.

  He couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

  Anyone else.

  “Bree!” a voice within the apartment hollered before he’d even knocked on the door. “Our boyfriend is here!”

  Clint raised a brow at that, smiling to himself. Since when had he become community property?

  The door swung open, and Penny stood there in her sweats and oversized T-shirt, copper hair slung over one shoulder in a loose ponytail. “Hi, Clint.”

  “Penny,” he said with a nod. “How’s the term project?”

  She rolled her eyes and stepped back, gesturing for him to come in. “Public relations would be a fantastic field if it didn’t have so many people in it.”

  He laughed once, then actually started nodding as he thought about it. “I get that. People make everything more complicated.”

  “Amen.” She shook her head and moved to the couch, her laptop on the coffee table. “It’ll be fine once this week is over. What I wouldn’t give for something I can actually sink my teeth into. This is just boring.” She heaved a sigh and put her head in her hands for a second, then looked up at him with a smile. “What’s on the docket for date night, Captain Blue Eyes?”

  Clint gave her a bemused look. “Captain Blue Eyes?” he repeated. “That’s a new one.”

  “Marine plus attractive feature equals nickname,” Penny elaborated quickly. “Tell me what you’re doing tonight.”

  “Can’t do that, I’m afraid. Top secret.”

  Penny groaned. “A hint, at least. You’re killing me.”

  Clint glanced towards the bedrooms, then lowered his voice. “You had lesson one for her. Terminology. I have lesson two, hands-on.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean . . . ” She lifted a socked foot and mimicked lacing skates.

  He nodded once and held a finger to his lips.

  She mimed zipping her lips and gave him two thumbs up with a huge grin.

  “Thanks.” He exhaled heavily, looking towards the bedrooms again.

  “Bree!” Penny bellowed, making him jump. “Don’t keep the poor man waiting!”

  “Penny Marquette, leave me alone!” Bree barked in response as she came out into the living room, smiling as she widened her eyes in exasperation. “It takes some effort to look this good.”

  Penny scoffed loudly and waved a hand. “Effort, schmeffort. You’re a natural, and I hate you.”

  “I love you too,” Bree replied, batting her eyelashes. She looked at Clint with a warm smile that made his chest ache. “Ready?”

  “Yep,” he managed, holding out his hand. She took it at once, and he looked back at Penny. “See you, Penny.”

  She nodded. “Captain. Have fun, you two.”

  Bree shook her head as Clint led her out of the apartment, sighing once the door was closed. “I can’t believe she called you captain.”

  “Oh, she explained the whole thing,” Clint told her as they walked to his car. “But what I want to know is when I became ‘our’ boyfriend.”

  Bree’s gasp was flat-out comical. “You heard that?”

  “Oh yeah.” He gave her a cheeky grin as he opened the passenger door for her. “Loud and clear.”

  Her cheeks went rosy in the chilly evening air, and she clamped down on her lips hard. “I have no explanation for that.”

  Clint shrugged as she slid into her seat. “Fair enough, but I’m really only interested in being one person’s boyfriend.” He gave her a pointed look as he closed the door.

  Bree’s eyes widened, and she looked forward almost immediately.

  Chuckling, Clint moved around to the driver’s side door, opening it and climbing into the seat. He debated continuing the conversation but opted to simply start the car and back out as though the point had been made well enough.

  After all, he’d said his piece, and there was an entire evening ahead of them.

  It was entirely possible there would be a solid answer by the end of the night.

  Bree was silent on the drive, and Clint wondered if he had said too much, pushed too far. He rested his hand between their seats on the console, watching out of his peripheral vision to see how she would react, holding his breath.

  Three heartbeats passed, and then Bree reached over and took his hand, pulling it over to her side, weaving their fingers together before placing her free hand on top of them.

  Slowly, Clint released his breath through his nose, glancing over to see Bree staring out of her window. But her hands were on his, and her hold was sure.

  That was enough.

  “Where are we going?” Bree eventually asked. “I can honestly say I have no idea where we are.”

  Clint laughed once. “No? Good. I’ve been taking the long way to throw you off.”

  She slapped his hand sharply. “Clint! Come on, that’s just mean!”

  “It is not! It’s sneaky. Excuse me for trying to surprise you.” He grinned at her, quirking his brows.

  Bree rolled her eyes, but rubbed his hand at the same time. “Seriously. You’re crazy.”

  “Yep. Fully admit it.”

  His phone buzzed just then, and he heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Wanna check that?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” she shot back. “Who would it be?”

  “Northbrook guys, probably. They’ve been texting a lot lately.”

  Bree released his hand to pick up the phone. “Oh yeah? Why’s that? Code, please.”

  “Four-four-zero-five,” he recited. “And because we reconnected, and the whole thing to save the club.”

  “Oh yeah.” She made a sympathetic face at him. “Any progress?”

  “Not yet. I’m thinking of asking Mr. White for more information or something, just to see how bad it is.”

  Bree nodded at once. “Do that. I can take a look; maybe I can help. Math runs in the family, you know.”

  Clint smiled fondly. “Yes
, I know. Why and how anyone would let math do that is beyond me, but it’s fine.”

  She stuck her tongue out, then returned her attention to the phone. “They’re debating why you haven’t responded to any of the messages. Some guy named Diesel thinks you’re practicing your slapshot, since it’s so weak.”

  “What?” Clint muttered incoherently under his breath in irritation for a minute. “Tell them I don’t have time or interest in joining in their inane conversations . . . ” He trailed off as he realized she’d already been responding. “What are you doing?”

  Bree flicked her eyes over to him, her mouth curving into the most tempting, impish smile he had ever seen. “Telling them you’re on a date with me and to keep things civil so I don’t take it personally.”

  Clint’s jaw dropped, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes safely on the road. “Bree Stone, are you crazy? Do you have any idea what that is going to unleash?”

  She turned in her seat to give his profile a very direct look. “Clint McCarthy, I’ve grown up with the text conversations of the Six Pack as a norm. Do you really think your hockey buddies are going to scare me off?”

  There was something insanely attractive about the set tone in her voice, but it didn’t do anything for the fear swirling around his head.

  The phone in her lap buzzed at least four times, and she checked the screen, giggling to herself.

  “No, no,” Clint warned firmly. “No secret laughing. You tell me what they are saying.”

  Bree cleared her throat. “Jax says it’s about time you got a woman in your life. Dice wants a selfie on the date to prove it. Rock asks if I’m cute, which is more than a little presumptuous and inappropriate, in my opinion. And Diesel just sent a bunch of applauding emojis.”

  “Oh boy . . . ” Clint pulled the car into a parking spot at their destination and turned the car off, turning to look at Bree very frankly. “You’re in for it now, sweetheart. They’ll be hooked, and there’s no going back.”

  Bree smiled back and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Whoops.” The phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced down, her mouth popping open at whatever she read.

  Great. “Now what?”

  “Freaking Zamboni,” Bree stammered.

  “Tell me he wasn’t inappropriate,” Clint moaned, rubbing his forehead.