Complications on Ice - S.R. Grey

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by Grey, S. R.


  I laughed nervously. “No, of course not.”

  “That’s good to hear”—warm green eyes met mine—“because I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime.”

  Would I ever!

  Play it cool, play it cool. I urged my exuberant self to chill.

  Reveling in the power shift, I glanced at my nails, like they were suddenly infinitely interesting.

  “Hmm, possibly,” I murmured. “When were you thinking?”

  Eagerly, he replied, “Any night that works for you would be fine with me. As long as we don’t have a game, of course.”

  “What’s the game schedule look like this week?” I inquired.

  He uncrossed his arms and ran his fingers through his dark blond mane.

  “Let’s see, we have home games the next couple of days, but the weekend is free.”

  I pondered, then said, “My weekend is free, too.” Well, if my mom can babysit Ava. “I think that might work.”

  Benny looked excited. “Great, I know just where we can go.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “There’s an outstanding pasta place I like to frequent. It’s quiet and real private. And the food there is out of this world, Eliza. I think you’d really like it.”

  “That sounds amazing,” I said, dropping the play-it-cool act.

  “Perfect. But I should warn you ahead of time…”

  “Uh-oh, what now?”

  He eyed up the baby food in my cart, but there was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes this time.

  Smiling, he said, “I don’t know if my little pasta place serves anything comparable to those, uh…” He coughed. “…delightful selections you have in there.”

  Sarcasm, I loved it. Benny was my kind of dry humor guy.

  I was about to reply with something equally playful, but just then he leaned in for a better look inside my cart.

  Jumping back, he just about gagged. “Ugh. What is that gross, orange-y brown crap in the jars on top? You have a fucking ton of those.”

  “Um…” Ava’s dreaded sweet potatoes, oh, no.

  He reached in and picked up a jar, going on to read the label out loud.

  “Pureed sweet potatoes.” Looking up, he raised a brow. “You do know what this stuff looks like, eh?”

  “I never really thought about it,” I honestly replied.

  “I hate to say it,” he began, “but it looks exactly like someone had a bad bowel movement and put it in a jar.”

  “Benny, that’s disgusting,” I exclaimed, though he was totally correct.

  I kept thinking how he should see the stuff once it actually becomes a bad bowel movement. I wisely kept that one to myself.

  It was taking all I had to not lose it right there, especially when Benny insisted, “Sorry, but it does, Eliza.”

  He was going to pay for this. I was about to have a little fun, as well.

  Putting my hand over my heart, I feigned like I was hurt by his commentary.

  “I can’t believe you think that. The sweet potatoes”—I peered down at the jars as lovingly as I could for effect—“are the absolute best. You should try them sometime. Maybe you’ll find they’re fabulous, like I have.”

  The sweet potatoes were absolutely not fabulous. I’d snuck in a bite once while feeding Ava and gagged for over five minutes. But she sure loved them, so go figure.

  Benny placed the jar back in the cart like it was burning his hand. “Uh, I think I’ll pass,” he muttered. “You can have them.”

  “Your loss,” I stated.

  We stopped then, looked at each other, and started to laugh.

  “So about that dinner…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are we on for the weekend? Say, Friday night?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We made plans, agreeing not to tell anyone about our impending date. After all, my dad might castrate Benny if he ever found out he’d asked me out to dinner.

  Yikes, we couldn’t have that, could we?

  Hell no!

  Not before I had the chance to find out what kind of stick Benny was playing with.

  And I didn’t mean the one he used for hockey.

  Eliza Tattoos My Heart

  My date with Eliza was set, but I didn’t tell anyone about it. Not even Nolan or Brent, my usual co-conspirators. I was waiting for the right time to leak the info, like after I’d nailed Miss Townsend. Yeah, sticking it in Coach’s daughter was sure to stick it to Coach himself.

  There was only one problem.

  My devious plan to get back at Coach T wasn’t holding the same appeal it first had. I genuinely liked Eliza. Like, above and beyond the initial crazy attraction I felt for her.

  Eliza was pretty and sexy, but she was also sweet…and easygoing…and kind of really cool. There was nothing I didn’t like about her, save for her taste for that repulsive baby food sweet potato slop.

  Remembering our exchange at the grocery store made me smile. I liked how Eliza treated me like an ordinary person, not a hockey star. I always imagined myself ending up with someone like that. I’d never pursue a girl who wanted me for money or fame.

  Eliza was nothing like that, thank Christ. She was honest and upfront about everything. Hell, she’d even confessed that she was on that weird baby food plan. That right there was some major trust.

  A part of me wanted to give her a real chance. But then I felt scared, like, shit, I like her for fucking real.

  I tried to fight it, but the part of me that genuinely liked her started to slowly push away the part that wanted to simply stick it to her.

  Damn. Eliza had gotten to me more than I’d anticipated.

  But was that such a bad thing?

  I felt good, really good, when I thought about her. She made me excited about life, so much so that I actually took my puck bunny directory, the infamous red one I kept handy on the nightstand next to my bed, and threw it in the trash.

  “There,” I declared. “Now I can give Eliza a real chance, with no distractions.”

  Graham would be so proud I was taking his advice.

  Then, I panicked. “Wait. Fuck Graham. And hold up on Eliza. I can’t let a girl get under my skin like this.”

  I swiftly retrieved my puck bunny directory from the trash. But I made a concession—instead of leaving it conveniently located on my nightstand, I tossed it in a drawer.

  A little progress in the right direction is better than none, right?

  Over the next few days, I convinced myself the only reason why I’d put away my PB directory was because I needed to stay away from sex if I planned to keep a clear head about nailing Coach’s daughter.

  That soothed my troubled mind, but it made me feel all kinds of shady.

  At least, it did until I learned something that made me feel not so bad. It seemed Eliza had a secret of her own. Why else would she be so damn adamant about me not picking her up at her house for our dinner date?

  “I’ll just meet you at the restaurant,” she insisted when I called to confirm we were still on.

  I’d received a text from Dylan after I’d vaguely asked him if he knew if Coach had plans to review game footage down at his office at the arena. He often did, and Dylan skated there on our days off. That’s when the place was pretty much empty, so he’d know if Coach was there.

  He texted back, yeah, he’s here. Looks like he will be for awhile, too.

  I shared my intel with Eliza and added, “Your dad will be there for hours. I can pick you up and drop you off. He’ll never know we were out together.”

  “Mmm,” she replied, “I still think it’s better if we just meet out.”

  Why’s she so damn insistent on this?

  I was really wondering, but instead of pressing the issue, I relented. “Okay, we’ll just meet at the restaurant.”

  After we disconnected, I remained truly mystified as to why I had to stay away from her house. I’d have understood if her dad was home. But he wasn’t. He was a
t the arena and would be for hours.

  “Maybe her mom’s home and Eliza’s worried she’ll tell Coach I picked her up?”

  Yeah, that had to be it.

  My curiosity was sated, and I felt a hundred times better. Eliza wasn’t so shady, after all. I was the one with a sneaky agenda, seeing as I was still planning to nail her. Maybe even tonight, if I was lucky.

  When I arrived at the restaurant just as Eliza was getting out of her car, a few spaces away, I prayed it would indeed be tonight.

  The girl was smokin’.

  I jumped out of my car for a better view. And, wow. Eliza was sex personified. She was wearing her strawberry-blonde hair down and pulled forward over one creamy shoulder, all come-hither like. The sheath dress she had on fit her curves like a glove.

  I was so engrossed in watching her saunter over to me that I barely noticed that she’d reached me and started talking.

  “Hello, Benny, Earth to Benny.” She waved her hand in front of my face. But still, I stood there, mouth open like a damn caveman—and as unresponsive as one.

  Eliza’s beautiful brows crinkled in concern. “Benny, you’re worrying me. Did you get hit in the head with a puck at practice yesterday?”

  Nope, more like I’ve been hit in the heart…right now…by you.

  I wanted to say that, but it seemed a bit much for date numero uno.

  I went instead with a safe and simple, “You look fucking amazing, Eliza. Maybe that’s why I’m a little dazzled.”

  “Dazzled? Aww…”—is she blushing?—“thank you.”

  She was blushing, the cutest shade of pink. I didn’t feel so bad that I’d turned into a blathering fool. Neither of us cared, as we stood there in the parking lot grinning at each other like two teenyboppers on a first date.

  I knew then that this girl was going to be more than a conquest.

  Gesturing to the door, I cleared my throat. “We should go in, eh?”

  “Yeah, we should.”

  As we started in, I said, “So, Eliza, are you ready to experience the best pasta in the world?”

  Her brows shot up. “That’s quite a bold statement, Benny. But yes, I think I am.”

  “Good. And always keep in mind that I’m a bold kind of guy.”

  I brazenly took her hand, and she murmured, “I see that.”

  Stick with me and I’ll show you more, I wanted to say.

  But the hostess then greeted us, with a lot of enthusiasm, I noted. She began to lead us back to a private table in a quiet room at the rear of the restaurant.

  “This is perfect,” Eliza leaned over and whispered. “We’re the only ones in this back section.”

  “It’s nice it worked out this way,” I agreed.

  I didn’t share with Eliza that I’d called ahead and procured a private room for the evening.

  The hostess suddenly stopped, telling us she had just realized she’d grabbed only one menu instead of two.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Perry,” she went on. “I’ll be back in a minute with a second menu.”

  We were left standing there, and Eliza bumped my leg with her hip. She couldn’t reach any higher. How cute was that?

  Standing up on her tiptoes, she whispered in my ear, “I think our hostess is a little flustered by you.”

  “I don’t know about that, Eliza.”

  “What? The girl couldn’t even count out the correct number of menus. She’s flustered, for sure.”

  “Nah,” I replied. “She’s probably just forgetful.”

  Another bump from Eliza, this one a little more forceful, and then, “Look at you, Benny, such a humble guy.”

  “Ha, hardly.”

  When she geared up to bump me again, I stepped behind her and caught her hips with my hands. She let out a little gasp when I gave a light squeeze.

  “Mmm, Mr. Perry…” She leaned back against my chest, a little breathless. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Townsend. I think you’re the one flirting with me.”

  Arching her sweet, rounded ass till it was damn near pressed in my groin, she breathed out, “You’re right. I am.”

  She definitely was, and I rasped, “Hell, yeah.”

  Fuck, I wanted this girl in my bed. And with the way she kept leaning back into me, even as I grew rock-hard, I suspected she wanted the same thing.

  Spinning around, she faced me.

  Damn, I was done for right there.

  “Benjamin,” she said.

  “Eliza,” I replied.

  I leaned down to kiss her, not even caring where we were. This girl was tattooing my heart, leaving her mark. And the ink was fucking spreading.

  Wait, what?

  My playboy side went nuts, but I made him shut the hell up. That’s right, I was about to pursue something more than just sex with Eliza. Don’t get me wrong. I still wanted her in my bed, now more than ever. But I no longer wanted to just fuck her to fuck over her dad.

  I wanted her for her.

  My lips grazed hers, and I drew in a sharp breath. She was vanilla and sugar and—

  Someone cleared their throat.

  “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I have that other menu now.”

  The hostess was back. Talk about sucky timing.

  With the moment ruined, Eliza and I broke apart.

  I discreetly adjusted myself and, amid jumbled apologies, the hostess then seated us. She handed over the menus rapidly, before taking off.

  “Finally,” I murmured. “It’s back to just us.”

  Oh, but I was wrong. The parade of restaurant employees had only just begun.

  A kid came in next to pour us some waters.

  And then a waiter appeared, to see if we wanted to start with drinks.

  I, obviously, replied a big, fat no to that one.

  It didn’t mean Eliza had to abstain, so I looked over at her and asked, “Would you like something a little stronger than water to drink?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Water’s fine.”

  The waiter nodded and left.

  I raised my glass of H2O and toasted, “Here’s to us being alone again.”

  “Yes, but for how long?” She laughed and touched her glass to mine. “The employees here sure are über attentive,” she noted. “But they keep popping in at the most inopportune times.”

  “You’re not kidding,” I agreed.

  And then, in a more serious tone, I said, “So, Eliza,”—my gaze met hers—“what happened in here right before the hostess returned—?”

  “Yes?”

  “We should talk about it, eh?”

  “Okay.”

  I blew out a breath, then laid it on the line. “Did that kiss feel as right to you as it did to me?”

  She whispered, “It did.”

  I reached over and placed my hand over hers. This time there were no employee interruptions.

  “I think we should talk about some other things, as well, Eliza.”

  I felt her tense up. Odd.

  “Like what kinds of things?” she asked, nervous-sounding.

  “Uh, nothing bad,” I assured her. “I just think we better discuss some ground rules for dealing with Coach—er, I mean your dad.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, which made me wonder what could possibly be worse than her overprotective father finding out about us, she said, “Oh, him.”

  “Yes, him.”

  The waiter returned to take our orders, and as Eliza was telling him what she wanted for dinner, my mind went somewhere else. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact she didn’t seem nearly as concerned about her father as I was.

  How could that be?

  And if that were the case, why had it been so important for me to stay away from her house? Why couldn’t I have just picked her up? Even if her mom had been home and told her dad, what would it matter?

  With our food orders in and Eliza looking over at me like she was wondering where I’d just gone, I cleared my throat and just st
raight-up asked, “Would your dad really flip if he knew we were going out?”

  Instead of answering my question, she demurely queried, “Wait. Are you saying what I think you are, Benny?”

  Oh, fun Eliza was back. Deflecting Eliza, yes, but fun Eliza, too.

  “What do you think I’m saying?” I replied, playing along since I liked seeing her smile.

  “That this is an official date?”

  Hell, she knew it was.

  I was all in on this flirting game, though, so gesturing to my finely tailored dark gray suit, I replied, “I sure hope this is a date. Otherwise, I’d have worn something more comfy. Like shorts and flip-flops.”

  “Ha.” She glanced around at the classy interior. “You never would’ve been let in a place like this dressed like that.”

  Ah, but there’s where she was wrong. The proprietors of this establishment—or any in this city, really—would never turn me away, no matter how sloppily I was attired. Just another perk of being a successful athlete.

  Not wanting to dispel her illusion, nor sound like a cocky ass, I played along.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But”—my eyes met hers—“I assure you I wore this for you, not for any silly restaurant owners.”

  She smiled. “Then I guess that makes it official—this is definitely a date.”

  “Finally!” I leaned back and relaxed. “So now that that’s established, what about your dad?”

  She sighed. “I have to be honest, Benny. He wouldn’t want us going out on any dates. Not to dinner, and, really, not anywhere.”

  “Why is that?” I was curious as hell as to why Coach was so protective of her.

  “He just hates the idea of me with any hockey player,” she replied, kind of evasive-like.

  “Hmm, is there a story there that I should know about?” I inquired.

  She was taking a sip of water and almost choked.

  Once she recovered, she insisted, “No, there’s no story. It’s just the way he feels since he knows how players can be.”

  That one shut me up. I didn’t want to go there. Still, it seemed a little too simple of an explanation. There had to be more to her dad not wanting her to date hockey players.

  This was a date, though, and I wanted Eliza to have a good time, not feel all stressed out.

 

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