by Lynda Aicher
“Really?” His arched brow was accompanied with a slow nod. “All right. What do you have in mind, Ms. Tour Guide?”
He really was game for a “tour.” A small wave of relief eased through her. His request hadn’t been a schmoozy line to get her into bed—a thought that’d crossed her mind. She tilted her head in fake contemplation. “I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“What? You think I’ll say no?”
It was a definite possibility. One she wasn’t going to take. “Surprises are more fun. Don’t you think?”
His low laugh contained both amusement and disbelief. It thrummed through her to tickle at the longing she refused to give credence to. He brushed a wayward hair away from her cheek, blown there by the breeze. That quick, her brain misfired again. The ghost of his touch lingered on her cheek to tease her with memories and launch her fantasies.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” He tipped his head toward the building entrance. “I would’ve come up and gotten you.”
That had her chuckling. It also managed to reengage her brain. He was just a guy, and this was just a date. A first date. “I thought it’d be easier if we avoided the big brother scowl.” Thankfully Rock was working the late shift at the club tonight and wouldn’t be camped out waiting for her to get home.
Scott shrugged. “It would’ve been worth it.” He shot her a wink then opened her door.
Was he for real? There was no way a man like him was running around free without some big, dark secret.
She studied him as he navigated through Rock’s neighborhood then onto the highway, following her directions to their destination. “Do you turn into a hairy werewolf on a full moon?” she asked once they’d blended into the evening traffic.
“What?” he barked around his burst of laugher.
She waved a hand at him. “Or do you keep dead people buried in your basement?”
His chuckle morphed into a confused note that matched his face when he hesitantly glanced her way. “No. Why?”
The wariness in his voice had her laughing. She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Oh, no. You don’t get to ask things like that without explaining.”
“Sure I can.”
“Okay,” he agreed too quickly, head bobbing in a slow motion. “But it’s only fair that I warn you. I have ways of making you talk.”
“So you’re a sadist?”
“What?”
There was no way she could maintain her straight face when he hit her with a confused glance. “Eyes on the road,” she managed to admonish.
He jerked his attention back to the highway, chuckling. “I am not a sadist. Or a serial killer. Or a werewolf.”
She nudged him, pulling her hand back when she wanted to linger on the bare skin of his arm. “A girl has to check.”
“Werewolf?” His brow was quirked when he checked her again. Damn, he really was gorgeous. His eyed danced, a light blue that included darker shades around the irises. She was beginning to think that nothing was straightforward with him. Which only made him more interesting. And attractive.
“You can’t be too careful.”
“I guess not.”
She consulted her phone and pointed to the upcoming exit. “We need to get off here.” Her afternoon research had found the perfect activity to start their tour. They had something like this in Atlanta, and she hoped the experience was close to what she was used to. “Then take a right.”
He didn’t question or push her for details as they made their way through St. Paul. She’d never been to this area, but the internet said it was safe and the bar’s website had great reviews. She directed him to a parking lot behind the brick building and hoped for the best.
“Have you ever been here?” she asked as they got out.
Scott came around to take her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm. “Nope.” He escorted her into the building, the perfect gentleman with her hand pressed tight against his warm skin. Her stomach did another flutter that had her blowing out a shallow breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
A simmer of chatter hit them when he opened the door. The interior matched the outside. Rustic but not dingy. Random signs, mirrors and memorabilia cluttered the brick walls. Green-covered booths and dark wood tables warmed the room and fit the hardwood floors. The scent of burgers, fries and beer flooded her nostrils, rounding out the bar vibe.
The place was busy, but not packed. A seat-yourself sign had her catching the attention of a waitress as she passed. “Where do they do the trivia?”
“Upstairs.” She pointed to a stairwell near the back and hurried away.
“Trivia?” Scott asked, clearly amused.
Good. “Come on.” She led the way to the second floor and grabbed a high table for two next to the exposed brick wall. The open space was much like the downstairs with more cozy nooks and a long bar along the opposite wall.
He held her seat for her, his hand brushing over her nape as he moved away. The resulting rush sent a shiver down her spine and did nothing to settle her unaccustomed nerves. She was such a goner.
“Do you have any suggestions on local brews?” she asked, reaching for the beer list.
“I don’t drink.” He glanced up from his menu. “But don’t stop on my account,” he rushed on when her hand stalled. “It’s a personal choice. It’s hard enough keeping up with the younger guys without adding bad habits into it.”
She left the list untouched. “It’s fine. It gives me a headache.”
“But you were going to have one if I was?” That raised brow of his said he didn’t believe her headache excuse. She wasn’t a good liar.
No answer was better than admitting she’d been caught though. She hid behind her menu, his chuckle reaching her easily. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to laugh at a lady?”
“Is that a Southern thing?”
A peek over her menu showed the dancing amusement in his eyes. Of course the overhead lights didn’t glare off his forehead or highlight a pimple like it would on a normal person. “Vampire. Right?” His brows jumped. “The sparkly kind, not the burst-into-flames-in-sunlight kind. That has to be it.”
His laughter rolled over her in a remembered wave of warmth. That so did not help. He shook his head, his shoulders bouncing with his mirth. “Not a vampire,” he said. “Sparkly or flame-bursting.”
She scowled. “I’m not convinced. How do you like your steak?”
“Medium rare,” he choked out before clearing his throat, lips compressing to cut off his laughter.
“It wasn’t that funny,” she said with starch in her voice. She shoved her nose back behind the menu and pretended to ignore him. Her grin was huge behind the paper though.
“Yes, it was,” he murmured. She hmm’d, leaving him to interpret the sound. The abrupt removal of her paper shield revealed her smile before she could stifle it. He pointed at her, her menu held aloft. “See. It was.”
She gave up on her pretend affront and let her laughter out as she snatched her menu away from him and leaned back in the chair. Again, it was better not to respond. Happiness hummed over her skin and the words on the menu made zero sense no matter how much she tried to concentrate on them.
Their waiter arrived, and Rachel ordered a chicken breast sandwich and settled on water. Getting drunk, even tipsy, while he remained sober wasn’t a risk she’d take, even if he seemed safe enough.
Plus, she didn’t need to drink. She was having fun without it.
He ordered two chicken breasts, a bowl of pasta and a side salad. Her brows lifted at the quantity of food, but she kept her mouth shut. Micromanaging his meal choices didn’t interest her. Except where’d the calories go? He definitely wasn’t carrying a spare tire around his waist.
He glanced at her and shrugged when the waiter left. “I had a big workout today.”
“What’d you do?”
“Biked and skated.”
She got the impression those two things entailed more than a r
ide around his neighborhood and lap around a rink. “So you keep up your training during the summer?”
“Have to.” He blew out a breath, hand rubbing over his abdomen. “I don’t bounce back like I used to and I refuse to suffer the two weeks of hell getting back in shape when the season starts. It’s easier to just maintain it.”
“And the food?” Seemed she couldn’t keep herself from asking about it. “Do you follow a special diet?”
He scrunched up his face. “Not exactly. The Glaciers provide team meals during the season, so I usually don’t have to worry about it too much.”
“The team caters meals? For every game?” Must be nice.
“Most of them. It’s one way to ensure we’re eating right and keeping our weight up.”
This was so foreign and absolutely fascinating to her. She rested her elbows on the table, shifting in. “So losing weight’s an issue, not gaining?” Like most people. Yet another clue he wasn’t normal. She was edging toward werewolf. Didn’t they have a high metabolism?
“With the amount of calories we burn every game, it can be hard to stay at our optimal weight.” He fiddled with his water glass, a hint of discomfort stealing up to flush his cheeks. “Add in practices, training and crazy schedules, and eating healthy can easily fall off the priority scale. Teams invest too much in us as athletes to see our game slack due to poor eating habits.”
“So it’s self-serving for them?” she deduced. “And not as altruistic as it sounds.”
“Yeah.” His agreement was edged with something close to bitterness. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that tone creep in when they discussed his profession, and it reminded her they were supposed to be talking about something besides hockey.
Dang. She was failing on her job already.
“So tell me what you like to do when you’re not absorbed with your job.” She forced a brightness into her voice and purposely avoided saying the H word.
There was definitely an element of relief in the smile he flashed her. He sat back, his leg brushing hers beneath the table as he stretched it out. It was insane that a rush of heat zinged up her leg to clench her sex from that simple touch.
“I read a lot,” he said. “Especially during the season. It eats up the travel time, and I find it’s better than TV to unwind after a game.”
Interesting. What would he think of her room packed with romance novels? “What do you read?”
“Mysteries. Sci-fi. Thrillers. Whatever grabs my attention.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Paper or e-reader?”
“E. Definitely. Easer to travel with.”
“Agreed. But I still love the scent of paper books.”
He shifted his leg, his foot bumping hers as he set it on the lower rung of her chair. “Do you mind if I rest my foot here?”
“Not at all.” Not even slightly.
“So what do you read?”
She ducked her head then promptly lifted it. “Romance.” She inflicted an underlying dare into her voice for him to mock her. There’d been more than one man who’d never made it to the second date because he’d scorned her reading choices.
“Cool.” Just that. No hidden intone or arched brow. “What else do you enjoy?” That simple he moved to another topic.
She studied him for a moment, hunting for the missed mirth but found none. “Running,” she finally answered. “Gaming when I have the time. Mu—”
“Video gaming?” His eyes were wide as he cut her off. “Sorry. But you’re a video gamer? Which ones do you play?” His eagerness had her chuckling again. He made her do that a lot.
She shook her head. “Not so much video, although I do like a good ‘Call of Duty’ challenge.” She smirked. “Army brat. I might not have joined the military, but my gene pool is apparently too laced with the instinct to be completely ignored.”
Their salads arrived and their conversation continued to flow through the rest of their meal. It was easy and equal on both sides. Her military comment led to an explanation of her family’s deep history of military service through both parents.
“How come you didn’t enlist?” he asked.
“Short answer—I didn’t want to.” The why dipped too far into Rock’s history and wasn’t hers to share.
“And that was okay with your parents, given the family history?”
She took a bite of her burger to delay her answer. Of course that only worked for a few seconds. This really shouldn’t irritate her now, years afterward. It still did though. “Dad wasn’t too miffed, because I was a girl. My brothers though, they pretty much had no choice.”
Scott stilled before he slowly lowered his full fork back to his plate. “I’m surprised you didn’t enlist to spite him.” His assessment wasn’t far off.
“I almost did,” she confided, something she usually didn’t do. “Then Rock knocked me upside the head and told me to get the hell into college.”
“I’m guessing that’s what you did.” He picked up his fork and finally took that bite of chicken he’d started before.
“All the way through to my master’s in education.” Not that it earned her more money. She’d only paid off the last of her school debts the previous year. “Did you go college?”
The light dropped from his face so quickly she blinked to ensure she hadn’t imagined it. Nope, the shutters were definitely down. “One year,” he said, voice flat. “Then I left and went pro.”
And they were back to hockey. “Do you like trivia?” she asked, dropping the other topic.
“What kind?” His brows winged up. “Sports?”
She sat up, preparing to lay down her trump card. “Geek trivia.”
“What?” he asked. Good, she got him smiling again. “I don’t know what that is.”
She motioned to the room, which had managed to fill while they were eating. “It’s a team game based on questions that are considered geekish to know. You know, it’s generally anything non-sports-related.”
He glanced around, eyes widening a touch along with his smirk. To say the room had filled with geeks would be stereotyping but appropriate. There was a table of four all wearing maroon Gryffindor shirts next to another table of men in Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica T-shirts, jeans torn and frayed at the cuffs. But in general, there was a solid mix of men and women, none of who had tape on their glasses or pocket protectors.
“Geek trivia,” he mumbled, head bobbing in understanding. “I feel incredibly out of place.” He sat back, eyes narrowing as a devious smile crept over his lips. “I like it, Fielding. This is good.”
She preened—just a bit. “Not a hint of sports around.” The televisions over the bar were actually turned off.
“Does this mean you’re a geek?”
“Ooh...” She let the word drag out as she contemplated the question. “Do I look like a geek?”
His eyes traveled over her, heat simmering in the blue depths. “I have a sister,” he finally said. “I know better than to answer that question.”
And there he went, jumping up the too-good-to-be-true scale. “Maybe you’re not such a dumb jock then.”
“Hey. I didn’t call you names.” His pretend outrage bordered on comical, but he had a point.
“Sorry.” She laughed, moving her plate to the edge of the table. “You’re right. And for the record, I never thought of you as a dumb jock.”
“Oh, really?” He leaned in, eyelids lowering. It managed to be both a suggestive and inquisitive look that flushed her with heat and dried out her throat. “How do you think of me?”
Good Lord. He was going to kill her without even touching her. But she most definitely wasn’t going down alone. She wet her lips, a deliberately teasing motion. Okay, so it was a bit obvious and unimaginative, but it worked. His eyes tracked the movement and his mouth parted so he could suck in an audible breath.
“Is naked in bed what you’re expecting?” she managed to ask, her voice husky with the lust simmering beneath her calm facade. “Th
at has possibilities,” she went on before he could respond, “but is still questionable.” He groaned, chin dropping to his chest. She suppressed her chuckle and small cheer of victory. “Up ’til now I’ve thought you were an interesting, intriguing man who seems too good to be true. One I definitely want to know better, yet realize the possibilities are limited given our circumstances.” They’d started with the direct approach and she saw no reason to change that now.
Her hands were clenched beneath the table as she waited for his response. She’d turned a joking conversation into a dead serious one in two sentences. Her flirting skills were officially dead, not just rusty. But it was better to keep the facts in front of them, even if the truth did suck.
He lifted his head, his eyes darkened with an intent that kicked up her pulse. “I like you, Rachel Fielding. Your directness is refreshing. And I ditto the too-good-to-be-true sentiment.” She hesitated when he extended his hand across the table, palm up. The moment drew out, another one where the rest of the world fell away as she settled her hand in his. The jolt of his touch was an electric shock up her arm that rippled through her chest. “And I know I’d regret it if I didn’t seize this unexpected chance while it was here.”
If it was possible to come from words and a single touch, she would’ve. As it was, everything melted within her, turned right into mush that her spine barely managed to hold up. She couldn’t let him see that though. It’d leave her too open, and she was long past the time when she would’ve jumped at his words and plunged down the rainbow dream of hope.
But she was also smart enough not to sprint away. “I agree, Scott Walters. So where does that leave us?” Toss the hot potato into his hands and see what he did with it.
He turned his hand around to lace their fingers together, eyes never leaving hers. “It leaves us right here. On tour stop number one, which is turning out to be pretty awesome. I can only hope there’s more to this tour.”
She had just under one week left in Minnesota. It was both too much and not enough. Her practical side put the brakes on her runaway thoughts and tumbling emotions. This was still just a date. Maybe their only one. Keep it light. Fun. He didn’t need serious, and neither did she.