Scoring at Love (Men of the Ice Book 4)

by Michele Shriver

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello,” Kendall answered. Brilliant conversation so far.

  “You look great.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Kendall looked down at her jeans and white button-down shirt and thought it was boring, but Lori insisted it was a good look for her, especially when paired with a short black jacket and the chrysoberyl pendant. “You, too. Different, though. Smaller,” she added, then wished she could take it back. What an idiotic thing to say.

  “I suppose. No hulk pads.” Becker smiled. “I hope I don’t look like a wimp.”

  Wimp? Not hardly. “Not at all. I don’t mean to offend you.”

  “Not offended. I get that all the time.” He held a hand out. “Shall we?”

  “Sure.” Kendall pulled the door shut and locked it behind her. “Where are we going?”

  “Good question,” Becker said. “Do you like seafood?”

  “I love it.”

  “Perfect. How about Cappy’s? It’s in the neighborhood and it’s become a favorite of mine since I’ve been in town.” He pressed a key fob, unlocking a silver BMW.

  Nice. “That sounds fine.” He opened the door for her, and Kendall got in. Even nicer. Yeah. Lori would want to hear about this, for sure.

  ***

  She liked seafood. Score one on the compatibility scale. Not that a fondness for fish was a deal breaker for Becker, but it still helped. So far, so good.

  “Is it hard for you to go out to eat?” Kendall asked. “I mean, are you mobbed by fans or anything?”

  “Yes, all the time,” Becker deadpanned. “I hope you’re ready. It’s going to be crazy, people asking for my autograph and wanting to pose for pictures.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from her house, waiting for her reaction.

  “Oh,” was all she said, not appearing fazed at all. Another point.

  He turned to her and grinned. “I’m just kidding. Nobody’s going to mob me. I probably won’t even be recognized. It’s not like this is Toronto or some other hockey-crazed city,” he explained. “We fly pretty much under the radar around here.”

  “Even with that billboard on the highway?”

  “Yeah, even then.” Becker chuckled. “I also look different in street clothes than hockey gear. You said so yourself.”

  “That’s true. It’s nice that people let you have your privacy,” Kendall said.

  “Very nice. It’s one of the reasons I love playing here.”

  “Did you play somewhere else before?”

  She apparently hadn’t followed his career much and didn’t know a lot about him. Becker could live with that. He didn’t want her star struck, anyway. “Detroit,” he said. “Not quite as hockey-obsessed as the Canadian cities, but an original six team, and they love their Red Wings. I was the back-up there for four years. I hoped to get a new contract and become the starter, but instead the team left me unprotected in the expansion draft.” He’d been angry at the time, but he quickly got over it. “San Antonio took a chance on me and made me their number one, and I’ve grown to love it here.”

  “And you guys even made the playoffs. Pretty impressive for the first season.”

  “Yeah, but we lost to our in-state rival in the first round, who eventually went on to the win the Cup.” It would be hard to go to Dallas to play next season and see the Stanley Cup Champions banner hanging in their arena. On the other hand, Becker figured it would serve as a motivator, too. “You’re right, though. We exceeded a lot of people’s expectations, and that’s a good thing.

  The restaurant was a short drive from Kendall’s Alamo Heights home, and they arrived in only a few minutes. Becker parked the car and hurried around to open the door for her, but she was too fast for him and was already out by the time he got there.

  “I’m not helpless,” she said.

  You’re apparently not used to gentlemen, either. “I never said you were, and certainly don’t want to imply that I think you are,” Becker said. “I like to open doors for ladies, though.”

  “So I should just say thank you and get over it?” There was a twinkle in her eyes.

  “That’d be easiest.” Becker made sure to open the door to the restaurant and allow her to enter first.

  “In that case, thank you,” Kendall said with a soft chuckle.

  “You’re welcome.” They were escorted to an intimate table in a corner of the restaurant, where Becker pulled out a chair for Kendall to sit down first. When he was seated, he reached for the drink menu in the middle of the table. “Do you like wine?” he asked. “They have a nice selection here.”

  “Yes. Chardonnay is my favorite.”

  It wasn’t Becker’s first choice in wine, being more partial to red, but he didn’t mind a good Chardonnay, especially in the summer. “Let’s get a bottle,” he suggested, studying the list. “How about the—” Becker stopped as he noticed Kendall staring at a couple heading in their direction. Her lips had tightened into a thin line. “Is something wrong? Do you know them?”

  “Can you do me a favor?” She turned to look at him, eyes pleading. “Act like you’re interested in me. You know, like really into me. Can you do that?”

  Shouldn’t be too hard. Without answering, Becker moved his chair closer and placed a hand on hers, just as the couple approached their table. The man was tall and skinny, with blond hair, and his companion, who clung tightly to his arm, was a brunette with a pointed nose. There was nothing remarkable about either one of them, at least in Becker’s estimation.

  “Kendall?” The man frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” Her voice was cold, if a little shaky. Whoever this guy was, Kendall must not like him much, and Becker sensed he had the ability to rattle her.

  “Where are the kids?” she asked him.

  Kids? Was this the ex? That might explain the whole ‘act like you’re interested in me’ thing.

  “With my mother,” the man said. “She doesn’t get to see them as much these days, so I wanted her to have some time with them.”

  “Your mother knows she can see them whenever she wants. She only needs to call me.” Gone was the fluster in Kendall’s voice. Now she just sounded pissed. That was enough for Becker. He cleared his throat and stood up.

  “I don’t even believe we’ve met before. I’m Becker Lawson.” He didn’t bother extending a hand.

  “Oh my God, you play for the Generals.” It was the clingy brunette.

  “I do, yes. But tonight I’m just a guy who’s about to have dinner with a lovely woman,” he said. “We don’t have room at our table for four, so whatever business you have with Kendall, you’ll have to address later.”

  The other man’s blue eyes clouded over, and Becker wondered if he’d put up an argument, but after a second he nodded. “That’s fine. Shana and I are on a date, anyway.” He smiled at the brunette on his arm. “Right, babe?”

  Asshole. Becker barely refrained from saying the word out loud as the other couple walked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Kendall said as he sat back down.

  “Sorry? What are you apologizing for?”

  “That’s my ex-husband.”

  Yeah, and his new girlfriend. “I figured that much out,” Becker said. “I can also tell that he upset you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Kendall said, and it sounded like she wanted to convince herself, too.

  “You sure?” Becker reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Because we can go somewhere else if you’d like.”

  Chapter Five

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kendall shook her head. As much as she didn’t want to have to look at Carter and his new girlfriend, leaving would be like admitting he won. Besides, Becker seemed more than capable of handling her ex-husband. “No. Carter’s ruined enough for me. He’s not ruining this, too,” she said firmly. “We’re staying, and we’re going to have a wonderful time.”

  Becker smiled. “That’s what I want to hear. I think we we
re about to order some wine. How about a bottle of the Peter Michael Chardonnay?”

  Kendall stole a glance at the wine list and saw it was among the most expensive selections. And that meant... very expensive. Yikes. Then again, he was a professional athlete, so the cost probably didn’t faze him. No, things were different for him. One more reason that Becker was out of her league—way out—but she had vowed to have a good time tonight, and besides, she deserved it. “That sounds perfect.”

  Becker ordered the wine as well as an appetizer of the gulf shrimp nachos, and when the sommelier brought the wine, he allowed her the first taste. It was magnificent—then again, at that outrageous price, it better be—and Kendall savored it. She mainly bought the cheap stuff now. She’d gotten the house in the divorce, and Carter paid his child support—she’d give him that much credit—but having a special needs child was a strain on the budget. As a result, Kendall had cut out all luxuries. Was it selfish to want to indulge now?

  “This is probably all sorts of awkward now,” Becker said, “but it’s hard to ignore that you said ‘kids.’ I only know Tristan, but obviously there’s another? Or more?”

  Oh, God? Did he think she had a whole litter? “One more. Two total.” Kendall took a sip of wine. “You’ve met Tristan, our perfect future hockey star, or so Carter likes to think. Carter is all about perfection.” She tried not to sound bitter. “Our daughter, Alison, is six, and she’s not as perfect.” Kendall swallowed hard. “Well, I still think she is, anyway, but Carter hasn’t coped as well. Ali suffers from a condition called Rett Syndrome.”

  Becker’s brow furrowed. “I’m not familiar with it.”

  Was he already judging? Kendall hoped not. “That doesn’t surprise me, as it’s quite rare. It’s an autism spectrum disorder that affects mainly girls, and only about one in ten thousand,” she explained. “They develop normally for the first year, year and a half, and then regress.”

  “Regress how?”

  “They lose their movement and speech skills,” Kendall explained. “At least, that’s what happened with Ali. She was a perfectly healthy, happy, normal little girl.” Normal. There was the word Kendall hated. What was normal, anyway? “Then things changed. Now she’s confined to a wheelchair, needs help feeding herself, and communicates mainly through her eyes.”

  “Is there any cure?” Becker asked.

  Kendall shook her head. “No, least not so far. But medicine and science continue to do great things, so I keep on hoping.”

  The gulf shrimp nachos arrived at their table, and Becker dove in to sample them before responding. “I? I can’t help but notice you said I. What about your ex-husband? Carter?”

  “What about him? Carter’s a perfectionist. That’s what he wants. Ali’s not perfect, so he struggles with her, hence pawning her off on his mother during his visitation night.” The divorce might be done, and thus it wasn’t relevant anymore, but Kendall would remember this. “I’m not perfect, either, so he traded me in for a different model. Maybe one that will give him perfect kids.” There. She’d said it. What she feared the most. That Carter would start a new family, and Ali would become even more of an afterthought to her father.

  “What? You mean he blames you?” The outrage was evident in Becker’s voice.

  “I didn’t say that.” What the hell was wrong with her? One minute she thought she hated him, the next she tried to make excuses for him. “I don’t think he blames me, exactly. He’s just having a hard time accepting Ali’s condition.”

  “If you say so.” Becker didn’t sound convinced, and Kendall didn’t blame him. It was hard for her to defend Carter’s actions, too, even though she still found herself doing it.

  “It’s difficult. Let’s put it that way. Can we talk about something else, now? And maybe order dinner?”

  ***

  Nothing like an awkward change of subject. Becker struggled to take it all in, but she was right. Ordering food could take priority. Maybe the diversion would kill the awkwardness, because no way was Becker going to let an asshole ex who didn’t even want to spend time with his kids ruin the evening. At least Carter and his date weren’t seated at a table that was visible from their’s, since seeing her ex-husband with his new girlfriend had obviously upset Kendall.

  Becker waved their server over and ordered the red snapper, while Kendall ordered the gumbo with gulf shrimp, chicken and andouille. He didn’t care what she ordered. He just wanted a reset on the conversation, and apparently so did she. He didn’t want to talk about the asshole ex. He wanted to get to know Kendall.

  “You said you’re a teacher. What grade?”

  “First, over at Cambridge Elementary,” Kendall said, naming the school in her neighborhood. “So Ali should be in my class, except she’s in special ed.”

  Becker reached for another appetizer. This was hard, heavy stuff, but he wanted to hear it. “At the same school, though?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you’ll still see her.”

  “Yes, sure, but it’s not the same,” Kendall said.

  “I suppose.” Becker tried to wrap his head and around all of it, and couldn’t. He wasn’t a parent, so it was difficult to grasp Kendall’s struggle. Even still, he couldn’t ever imagine having children and not wanting to see them, and even going to the lengths of having his mother babysit on his visitation night, all so he could go on a damn date. And with a woman not nearly as attractive as the wife he’d divorced. He especially couldn’t fathom that part.

  “You’re having a hard time with this aren’t you?”

  The question caught Becker off guard, but he nodded. “A little, yeah. I’m having a hard time accepting a man not wanting to see his kids as much as possible, and worse yet, pawning him off on his mom when he’s supposed to be spending time with them. That doesn’t sit right with me.” He took a drink of wine and was grateful when dinner arrived. “I’ll resist the urge to go tell him what I think, though. For your sake, and to avoid a scene.”

  “Thank you,” Kendall said. “I don’t want a scene. I just want an enjoyable night away from the chaos. Tell me about youreself, where you’re from, Detroit...”

  Becker could recognize a diversion when he saw one, and this one may as well have had flashing neon lights. They’d already talked about his time in Detroit. “I’m from Madison, Wisconsin,” he said. “I played as a teenager in the USHL junior league, for a team in Iowa called the Waterloo Blackhawks, and earned a college scholarship to play for Michigan State. I got drafted by the Red Wings organization, and played for their minor league team in Grand Rapids, then Detroit with the big club, then here. Oh, and I’d love to meet your daughter.”

  “What?”

  Yeah, her jackass ex had sure done a number on her confidence. “I said I’d love to meet your daughter sometime. I mean, I already know Tristan, and he’s a great kid,” Becker said, “Naturally, I want to meet Ali, too. When you’re ready, of course.”

  “You sound serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious.” Beck frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you’re a professional athlete. You make millions of dollars. And you’re gorgeous. You can probably have any woman you wanted,” she said. “So why would you be interested in a decidedly average, divorced mother of two who spends her days teaching six-year-olds how to read, then goes home and has to spoon feed her six-year-old?”

  “Wow.” Becker exhaled sharply. “You just said a lot, and I’m not even sure where to begin.” He reached for his wine and took a sip. “You’re right. I play hockey for a living, and I get paid more than four million dollars a year to do that. Some days, I think I’m ridiculously overpaid, considering my job is mainly one of entertainment. It’s sure not as important as what you do, for example. But then I remember I’ve faced—and even stopped— a 106 mile per hour slap shot from Shea Weber. And then I think I’m underpaid,” he said, fully aware that hearing the speed of the shot wasn’t likely to reassure Kendall that her son playin
g goalie was a good idea.

  “As for the women,” he continued, “I’m not sure what you’ve heard or read about the supposedly glamorous lifestyle of the NHL, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, we have a few playboys on our team. They like the nightlife and the women.” Becker shrugged. “Me, I’m more quiet. Most evenings, I just spend at home with my dog. As much as I love Roscoe, though, that life gets kind of lonely at times, and I find myself craving the company of a fellow human, and preferably of the female persuasion. I think you’re beautiful, and I did from the first moment I saw you, and that’s why I wanted to get to know you better. And as I do, I’m finding out that your beauty goes deeper than the surface, and that makes you even more attractive.” His eyes met hers. “Does that answer your question?”

  ***

  If it was a test, Becker passed it with flying colors, and Kendall gave herself permission to stop questioning everything and simply enjoy the evening. She even managed to forget, at least for a little while, that Carter was at the same restaurant with his date, although she couldn’t help a little pettiness and found herself hoping they were having a miserable time.

  Over dinner, and then a shared dessert of bread pudding, Kendall discovered that she shared plenty in common with Becker beyond a fondness for seafood. They both liked eighties music and movies and as they talked and laughed, she almost found herself forgetting that he was a famous athlete and a millionaire. He seemed like a regular person.

  As we walked her to her door, Kendall’s mind raced through the proper dating protocol, if there even was one. She was way out of practice. Was she supposed to invite him in? No. It was too soon for that, and if he expected it, then forget it. They weren’t compatible after all. She’d just gotten out of one relationship. No way was she rushing into another one. “I had a great time tonight, Beck. Thank you.”