One-Timer (The Baltimore Banners Book 9)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Dillon finally looked away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Maggie narrowed her eyes and waited, somehow knowing she wasn’t going to like the answer. He mumbled something, still not looking at her.

  “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  Dillon cleared his throat, his gaze darting back to hers then skipping away. “I said it was a three-point-eight.”

  Maggie clenched her jaw, not wanting to believe her ears. Three-point-eight. Of course it was. “You lied to me.”

  “What?” Dillon’s head spun around, his astonishment clear. “When did I ever lie to you?”

  “You’re not a stupid jock.”

  “I never said I was.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “Well—” He shrugged, the color on his cheeks darkening. “I guess. Maybe. If you want to call it that.”

  “You lied to me!”

  “How did I lie to you?”

  “Because you did.” Maggie knew she wasn’t making any sense. And the more she opened her mouth, the less sense she made. It was obvious Dillon was thinking the same thing because he was looking at her like she had suddenly morphed into an alien lifeform.

  He stood up and walked toward her. No, not walked. Stalked. Yes, he was definitely stalking, like a predatory cat, each step slow and deliberate as he closed the short distance between them. He stopped less than a foot away, his hazel eyes flaring with impatience as he glared at her. She tried to back away but there was nowhere for her to go, not with her back already against the counter. In the few weeks since she had met him, she had developed a myriad of impressions about him: charming, innocent, funny. Jock. Cute. Now she added another impression: intimidating—especially with the way he seemed to suddenly tower over her.

  “Let me get this straight: you assumed I was a dumb jock because of your own prejudices. And now, because I don’t fit into your neat little preconceived image box, you’re telling me I lied to you. Is that it?”

  Cripes, he made it sound like this was her fault. Okay, so maybe it was. But did he have to phrase it like that and make her sound so…so…judgmental?

  Maggie lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Yes? Did you just say yes?”

  Yes, she had—and she had no idea why. That made her sound crazier than she really was. But she couldn’t take it back now, not without really sounding like she was losing it. And who knew? Maybe she was. And that was all his fault, too, because if he hadn’t kissed her last night, she wouldn’t be sleep-deprived and her mind would be functioning at full capacity.

  “Yes.”

  Silence stretched around them for nearly a full minute, tense and wary. At least, she was tense and wary; she had no idea what Dillon was feeling. And then he laughed. A full-blown hearty laugh that broke the silence and made her jump in surprise.

  “You’re insane.”

  “I am not!”

  “Yes, you are.” He rubbed his knuckles across his mouth, wiping away the smile. Then he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the counter. Her heart slammed into her chest because, for a brief second, she thought he was going to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Okay, maybe she didn’t just think it, maybe she was hoping that’s what he would do. But he didn’t because he half-turned and started to pull her toward the living room area of her studio. She pulled back, suddenly wary—and maybe even disappointed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going out.”

  “I don’t want to go out. We still have a few hours left to study—”

  “No more studying. I need a break. You need a break. So we’re going out.” He grabbed her coat from the back of her desk chair and pushed it toward her. It slipped through her fingers—probably because she made no attempt to hold it—and fell to the floor. Dillon’s brows shot up and a small grin teased the corners of his mouth, giving her an unwanted glimpse of his dimples.

  But he didn’t say anything, just leaned down to pick up her coat and started to put it on her. He was dressing her, like she was a little kid!

  “I’m not helpless, I can do it myself.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Wow. How old did you say you were? Three?”

  Maggie yanked the coat from his hand and stepped back, glaring at him. “You’re not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  Maggie shot him another glare then jammed her right arm into the sleeve of the coat. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Tough.” He grabbed her scarf and quickly wrapped it around her neck, covering half her face as he did. She made a little growling sound and pulled the thick wool from her nose.

  “Are you trying to suffocate me?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He shrugged into his own coat then grabbed her hand and led her toward the door. Maggie thought about dropping to the ground in silent protest then decided against it.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “I know you don’t. We’re going anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re so stressed out that you’re stressing me out, and there are only two things I can think of right now to destress.”

  Maggie stumbled to a stop in front of the door and thought about pulling her hand from his. She pushed the thought away and narrowed her eyes at him instead.

  “Two things? Like what?”

  Dillon leaned forward, his face only inches from hers. Laughter shone in his eyes and that teasing grin played at the edges of his mouth as he watched her.

  “Skating and sex. Now if you want to stay here—”

  Maggie yanked her hand from his and tore open the door, his warm laughter echoing in the hallway as he followed her down the steps.

  Chapter Twelve

  The rink was deserted, just like Dillon had hoped. He pocketed the key then grabbed Maggie’s hand and led her toward the back. She didn’t exactly hesitate but she didn’t seem to be in a big hurry to follow him, either. At least she didn’t pull her hand from his, which he took as a good sign.

  “Are you sure we’re even allowed in here?”

  “Yes, I’m positive.”

  “Are you sure you’re sure?”

  Dillon chuckled but didn’t answer, just led her to one of the benches and motioned for her to sit. “I’m sure I’m sure. What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Um. A seven. I think.”

  Seven? Dillon had no idea how that translated to a men’s size. He looked down at her feet and frowned. Small. A lot smaller than he realized. Well, he’d find something.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  She shifted on the bench and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “Where are you going?”

  “To get skates. I’ll be right back.” He headed toward the back of the rink, his steps echoing oddly around him. He’d never been to the rink when it was closed, even though he knew several of the guys used it during off-hours to get in more ice time. He didn’t think any of them brought their girlfriends here, though.

  Girlfriend? Dillon gave his head a quick shake and kept moving. Maggie wasn’t his girlfriend. She was his…he didn’t know what she was. Not yet. Yes, he’d kissed her last night. Yes, he wanted to kiss her again. More than kiss her. And he would have done just that—or tried to, at least—if he hadn’t dragged her from her apartment an hour ago.

  Now he was hoping an hour or so of skating would help her loosen up, get her to relax. And get her to see him as something more than a dumb jock. He still wasn’t sure how to react to her earlier outburst, when she accused him of lying to her. Part of him wanted to laugh about it.

  And part of him wanted to shake some sense into her and do whatever he could to make her forget all about her preconceived notions of stupid jocks.

  He found the gear he needed and hauled it all back, dropping it in a huge pile near the bench. Maggie’s eyes widened and she looked up at him. “What�
��s all that for?”

  “I told you, we’re going to play some hockey.”

  She slid back on the bench and shook her head. “I don’t really do sports.”

  “We’re not ‘doing sports’.” He grabbed a skate and began loosening the laces. Maggie shook her head again and pointed at the pile of equipment in front of her.

  “That’s sporting equipment.”

  “No. It’s hockey equipment.”

  “Same thing.”

  “It is so not the same thing.” Dillon lowered the skate and leveled a serious look at her. “Hockey isn’t a sport. It’s a way of life. A calling. A passion. It’s way more important than just any sport.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Stop arguing and take those fuzzy boots off.”

  She watched him for a long minute, her lips pursed as her hands clenched the edge of the bench. Dillon honestly thought she was going to argue again, or give him some excuse why she couldn’t at least try. But she finally sighed and toed off her boots, surprising him.

  He reached for her leg and chuckled when he noticed her socks. Bright orange and yellow, with black cat heads scattered in a random pattern. They totally clashed with the green and black patterned leggings she was wearing.

  Her leg tensed in his hand as she looked at him. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Your socks.”

  “What’s wrong with my socks?”

  “Nothing. They’re cute. Come on, get your foot into the skate so I can lace it up.”

  “Are you sure this a good idea? What if we’re not supposed to be in here? What if we get in trouble?”

  Dillon ignored half her questions, only answering a few here and there as he helped her with the skates. No, they weren’t going to get into trouble. Yes, this would be fun. No, she wasn’t going to break her neck.

  They were both finally ready to hit the ice. He held her hand, letting her lean on him as she wobbled to the door. He hit the latch with his stick and held it open for her, then wisely decided to move in front of her. Just in case.

  Sure enough, her left foot hit the ice and almost slid out from under her. Her free arm waved about like a frenzied sea serpent, almost catching him under the chin. He stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her until she regained her balance. Her body was soft next to his, curves and dips that fit so perfectly against his own. He cleared his throat and put some space between them, hoping she hadn’t noticed his body’s reaction to hers.

  She didn’t—she was too busy muttering under her breath and trying to stand up straight. “Dillon, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Want to know what your problem is?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “You think too much.”

  “There is nothing wrong with using your brain—”

  “Didn’t say there was. But there’s nothing wrong with just letting go and enjoying yourself, too.”

  “I do that.”

  Dillon readjusted his grip on the two sticks and skated a quick backward circle around her. “Really? When?”

  Her mouth opened then snapped shut. Her brows lowered and she got a faraway look in her eyes, like she was trying to see something only she could see. Her lips pursed and she turned a frown on him. “I happen to enjoy my work.”

  “Which is what? Tutoring? Studying? Working in a lab?”

  “And interning.”

  “Let’s not forget that. That’s probably the most exciting of all.”

  “You wouldn’t understand—”

  “Maggie.” He skated to a stop right in front of her, his face only inches from hers. “I’m not arguing. I happen to think what you do is pretty cool and I respect it. Okay? But for now, I want you to let go of all that and have some fun, to see what it is I do and enjoy it.”

  “Is that why you brought me here? To show me how big a jock you are? You didn’t need to. I saw you play last night, remember?”

  “Is everything an argument with you?” He shook his head and pressed two fingers against her mouth. “Don’t answer that. Just give me thirty minutes. If you’re not having fun after thirty minutes, I’ll take you back home. Can you do that?”

  A full five seconds went by before she finally nodded. Grudgingly, and obviously against her better judgement, but she agreed. Dillon smiled then tossed the sticks on the ice against the boards.

  “First things first. We’re going to do a lap or two so you can get used to skating.” He held his hand out, waiting for her to take it. A little thrill shot through him when she placed her hand in his, and he told himself it was because she had finally done something without arguing about it. Yeah, of course that was the reason.

  He threaded his fingers through hers then led her in a slow lap around the boards. A really slow lap, because she was actually trying to walk instead of skate.

  They stopped and he spun around, facing her. “You’re supposed to skate, not shuffle. Put your hands on my shoulders and move with me, like we’re dancing.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “Then just pretend. Just glide your feet, like me. Follow what I do.” He placed his hands on her waist, surprised at how small she felt. It took more effort than he expected not to tighten his hold around her, to not pull her into his arms. Thankfully she didn’t seem to know the direction of his thoughts. If she did, he was certain he’d be sprawled out on the ice by now.

  At least her stride was getting a little better, a little more even and not as hesitant. He led her for two more laps then slid to a stop and moved away to get the sticks.

  “Now what?”

  “Now you’re going to pretend you’re a hockey player and shoot the puck.”

  “Dillon, this is crazy. I get your point. Really. I do. We don’t need to keep this up.”

  “You agreed to thirty minutes. We still have twenty minutes left.”

  “Seriously?” She reached for the stick he handed her and studied it with a frown. “It’s really only been ten minutes? That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” He tossed the puck on the ice in front of her then placed the blade of his stick on the ice. “Hold your stick like I am. No, not like that. It’s not a baseball bat. Yeah, that’s better.”

  “It feels weird.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Now come over here to the puck and push it with your stick.”

  “Push it? Not swing at it or something?”

  “Not yet. I want you to get used to where the puck is by your stick, how it feels against the blade.”

  “The what?”

  “The blade.” He pointed with a quick motion of his head. “The fat part of the stick.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She shuffled over to the puck and adjusted the stick, then made another quick shuffle to move it ahead of her—by a whopping two inches. She moved closer to the puck and repeated the same odd shuffle-push motion. Her eyes squinted in concentration behind her glasses and her tongue peeked out between her lips. Dillon forced his gaze away from the moist tip of her tongue, forced his thoughts away from where they wanted to go, and watched her move across the ice.

  Shuffle, shuffle, push. Shuffle, shuffle, push.

  She had gone maybe five feet when she finally stopped and drew in a deep breath then glanced over at him. “How was that?”

  “Not too bad. Give it a little more time and you’ll be ready for this.” He snagged the puck with his stick, flipped it into the air and bounced it against the blade three times, then dropped it back to the ice. He skated off, moving the puck ahead of him, darting back and forth. Between his legs then straight ahead, two spins, forward again, then around the boards and back in the other direction. He drew even with Maggie then pulled the stick back and shot it forward, sending the puck flying through the air. It hit the glass with a loud thwack that echoed around them then bounced to the ice, spinning away.

  “Now you’re just showing off.”

  Dillon skated over to her, a grin on his face. “Maybe.”
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  “No ‘maybe’ about it.” Maggie laughed then twirled the stick in her hand. Well, mostly twirled. She fumbled it and had to make a quick grab for it, nearly losing her balance in the process. “Can I try to shoot it like that?”

  “The puck? If you want. Just be careful so you don’t lose your balance.” He skated off after the puck then passed it toward her. It slid to a stop right in front of her, which earned him another look.

  “Spread your feet apart a little so you’re better balanced. And it’s not golf, you don’t need to swing it back over your head or anything crazy like that.” Dillon skated up behind her, adjusting her grip on the stick. “There, like that. Now just pull back and let the blade connect with the puck. Not too hard, not until you get a feel for it.”

  Maggie nodded and he stepped away, giving her room so she wouldn’t high-stick him in the face. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her tongue sticking out between her lips once more. And damn, she really needed to stop doing that. Did she have any idea what kind of thoughts she was putting in his mind when she did that?

  Apparently not, or she wouldn’t be doing it.

  She turned away and he let out a deep sigh of thanks. The sigh turned to a yelp of warning as she swung the stick behind her, like a golf pro going for the long drive. “Maggie, wait—”

  Too late. The momentum of her swing threw her balance off and she did a crazy spin on the ice. Her arms flailed around her, the stick flying through the air as she let go of it. Dillon ducked, managing to missing being hit at the last minute. He pushed forward, trying to catch her before she fell.

  He didn’t make it in time and she dropped to the ice with a muffled thud and sharp squeal—followed by a very clear expletive he had never heard from her before.

  “Shit. Maggie. Are you okay?” He slid to a stop next to her and dropped to his knees, his arm reaching behind her to help her sit up. “Did you hit your head? Is anything hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” She let him drape her arm around his shoulder without any argument, which told him she wasn’t fine. He helped her to her feet, ready to check her over, when she uttered another small squeal—this one of pain.

  “What is it? Where does it hurt?”