First Shot At Love
A Baltimore Banners Warm-up Story
Lisa B. Kamps
FIRST SHOT AT LOVE
Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
The Baltimore Banners™ is a fictional professional ice hockey team, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Other titles by this author
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
About the Author
For Gerrit and Connor…
Thanks for keeping me young!
Other titles by this author:
THE BALTIMORE BANNERS
Crossing the Line, Book 1
Game Over, Book 2
Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3
Body Check, Book 4
Break Away, Book 5
Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Delay of Game, Book 6
Shoot Out, Book 7
The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy
Books 1-3 Boxed set
The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy
Books 4-6 Boxed set
On Thin Ice, Book 8
Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
One-Timer, Book 9
Face Off, Book 10
Game Misconduct, Book 11
Fighting To Score, Book 12
Matching Penalties, Book 13
THE YORK BOMBERS
Playing The Game, Book 1
Playing To Win, Book 2
Playing For Keeps, Book 3
Playing It Up, Book 4
Playing It Safe, Book 5
Playing For Love, Book 6
Playing His Part, Book 7
THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES
Winning Hard, Book 1
Loving Hard, Book 2
Playing Hard, Book 3
FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN
Once Burned, Book 1
Playing With Fire, Book 2
Breaking Protocol, Book 3
Into the Flames, Book 4
Second Alarm, Book 5
Feel The Burn, Book 6
Coming Soon
STAND-ALONE TITLES
Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)
Finding Dr. Right
Time To Heal
Dangerous Passion
Dangerous Heat
Illicit Affair
Coming Soon
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One
Jean-Pierre Larocque never thought he'd abuse a cucumber in such a way but desperation made a man do strange things. He grabbed the sorriest looking one from the pile then nudged his cart closer to the angel, not quite hitting her with it.
"Could you help me?" He thickened his accent, knowing how women reacted to it. Why, he had no idea, but he had no problems using it to his advantage when he wanted to.
And he very much wanted to.
The angel slid her gaze toward him ever so briefly, barely looking at him before turning back to study the bin of vegetables. Then she did the unthinkable: she shifted away from him, cart and all.
No, that wouldn't do.
JP nudged his cart even closer, leaning over it like a young child and holding the cucumber out toward the angel. Time to pull out the heavy ammunition. "Excuse me," he said in French, the accent heavy, the words thick and rich. "Could you help?"
She looked over at him again, this time actually looking at him. She reached up with one small hand and tucked the waves of spun-gold hair behind her ear. Then the angel turned her head the other way, as if she thought he was talking to someone else.
And then she did the unthinkable again: she moved her cart and stepped away from him.
What the hell?
Time for a full-blown assault. JP grabbed another stupid cucumber from the pile and stepped around his cart, moving closer to the angel who didn't seem to notice him. He stopped beside her, close enough to get her attention but not so close he'd scare her off.
She glanced at him again, took a step back and collided with her own cart. JP reached for her, steadying her with a gentle hold on her elbow. Then he gave her a smile—his charming lopsided grin that women found irresistible.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked down, first at the hand wrapped around her elbow then at the hand holding the two cucumbers. JP didn't hesitate, just brought the cucumbers closer to her face.
"Which of these would you use?"
Someone snorted behind him, the sound loud and obnoxious. JP didn't bother to turn around, not even to glare at his teammate, Alec Kolchak. He was too mesmerized by the faint blush coloring the angel's cheeks, the barest hint of pink as her gaze moved from the cucumbers to him and back again.
"I—" The blush deepened and she shook her head, her full lips pursing in a delightful pout. Or maybe it was a smirk. JP couldn't really tell and he didn't really care, not when all he could think about was how soft those lips would feel against his skin.
He forced his gaze away from that luscious mouth, felt his chest tighten when he looked into her eyes. Deep blue, like the ocean—so deep, he could easily drown in them. Waves of desire crashed over him, startling him.
What he'd meant as a simple flirtation changed into something more. He wanted this woman. No—he needed her.
The realization slammed into him with the same force of being hit in the chest with a puck. Hard, heavy. Stinging. He released his gentle grip on her elbow and stepped back, hit the edge of his shopping cart and stumbled.
Alec snorted again. In disbelief? Amusement? JP didn't care, not when the angel reached out to grab him, to steady him. Delicate brows a shade darker than her hair pulled low in a concerned frown as her hand closed over his arm.
"Are you okay?"
She was concerned for him? The novelty would have made him smile if his brain had been working correctly. But it wasn't, it had short-circuited as soon as her hand made contact with the bare skin of his forearm. He opened his mouth, certain a charming quip would fall from his lips, but the only thing that came out was a strangled croak.
Alec snorted a third time and this time, JP shot a glare over his shoulder. The goalie merely raised his eyebrows, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
The only thing that stopped JP from ramming his fist into his friend's gut was the fact that Alec was in net tonight. Unable to do that, JP settled for shooting him another glare then turned back to the angel.
"Could you help me?" He held t
he cucumbers up again, inwardly wincing at the heat filling his face. He was making an ass of himself, he knew that as surely as he knew the Banners would win against Tampa tonight. But he couldn't stop now. "Which cucumber would you use?"
This time a small smile teased the corners of her full mouth. The angel looked down, pretended to study the cucumbers in her hand. Then she raised her gaze to his and pointed at the largest one.
"I would definitely use this one. But maybe you'd be better off starting small." She gave him a small wink then turned and grabbed her cart, walking away as rough laughter echoed behind him. JP stared at her retreating back, watched as she disappeared around the corner. Then he turned and threw the cucumbers at Alec. The goalie caught the first one with ease; the second landed with a dull thud on the floor at his feet.
"What the hell was that for?"
"For laughing. I don't find you amusing, eh?"
"Are you kidding? That had to be the worst fucking pick-up I've ever seen. Cucumbers? Really?" Alec bent over to pick up the lone cucumber then tossed it in the cart with a frown. "You're lucky she didn't haul off and hit you."
"Non. My angel would never do violence. I know it."
"Your angel? Are you sure you didn't get hit in the head this morning during practice?"
"I'm certain." JP turned his back on Alec and stared at the empty aisle. "You finish up here. I need to find her."
"Wait, hold on a sec." Alec grabbed his arm before he could step away. "You're seriously going to go after her? We don't have time for you to chase—"
"I'm not chasing. I just need to talk to her."
"JP, she's not your type. Let her go."
"I don't have a 'type'."
"Yeah, you do: loose and available. Trust me, that girl isn't your type. And you're not the kind of man who picks up women in the produce aisle of the grocery store!"
JP didn't bother to respond. How could he, when Alec was right? JP didn't chase after women: they chased after him—usually at the trendy nightclubs he frequented. So what was it about the woman that he found so irresistible? Wavy golden hair, deep blue eyes, lean figure hidden by simple jeans and a thin, loose sweater. There was nothing about her that stood out, nothing about her that should have caught his attention.
But she did. He didn't know why, didn't care why. All he knew was that he wanted to see her again.
Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. All of the above plus some.
He pulled his arm from Alec's grip. "You finish here. I'll meet you at the register."
"JP—"
But JP ignored him, already hurrying down the aisle in search of an angel.
Two
Emily Poole made sure nobody was around before she let the smile break free. She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to cool the warmth flooding her cheeks. She was blushing, actually blushing! Well, why shouldn't she? She'd never had someone try to flirt with her in the grocery store before. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Not really.
And certainly not anyone like him.
She laughed again at the memory of the man standing before her, those two ridiculous cucumbers in his hand. That was definitely a first. Another blush heated her face when she recalled her answer to his ridiculous question. That was another first, for her to try and flirt back.
And he was cute, whoever he was. A head taller than she, a nice muscular build without being too muscular. Thick brown hair, tousled and shaggy, hanging over the collar of his t-shirt. And those eyes! Gorgeous brown eyes with alluring gold flecks that made her feel like she was melting when he looked at her.
And he had been flirting with her!
She couldn't wait to get home and call Monica to tell her about it. Then again, maybe not. Her sister had been in an odd mood lately, subdued and withdrawn. No, it was probably better if she didn't tell Monica.
And she shouldn't be standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking the way as she relived the last few minutes, not when she still had to finish up here. Just a few more things and she could get home, settle in for the day and just relax and pamper herself.
She was overdue for a day of pampering—about two years overdue.
Emily turned the cart around, heading down the frozen food aisle. If she was going to do a pampering day right, she needed ice cream. A nice pint of thick, creamy ice cream. She paused in front of the shelves of ice cream and studied them through the clear door, trying to decide which one was best for pampering.
Chocolate, definitely. And not plain chocolate, either. No, she wanted to really indulge. Something with nuts and marshmallow and maybe even bits of fudge.
She opened the freezer door and reached in, her hand ready to close over the container, a taste of heaven in a pint.
"Ah. My favorite."
The warm voice came from her left, close enough to send shivers along her spine. Emily froze, her hand not quite wrapped around the pint, and turned her head.
Her gaze met the gorgeous brown eyes of the man who had been flirting with her moments ago. She blinked, wondering if maybe she was seeing things, then jerked her hand from the freezer and closed the door.
No, she wasn't seeing things. He was still standing there, watching her with the most adorable crooked smile she had ever seen. And she hadn't imagined things earlier: he really did have an accent, the sound warm and mellow, soft and entrancing.
He watched her for a long minute, those gorgeous eyes sending shivers dancing across her skin. Then he reached beside her and opened the freezer door, pulling out two pints of the ice cream. He placed one in her cart then held the second in his large hand, his gaze moving back to hers.
He stood close to her, close enough she could feel the heat rolling from his body. Warm, inviting.
Too close.
Emily yanked her gaze from his and took a hasty step back, trying to put distance between them before she did something completely out of character.
Like lean forward and press her hand against his chest.
Or press her lips against the firm flesh of his tanned neck.
Or just lunge toward him and wrap her body around his.
What was with her? She didn't act like this. Ever. She was usually so calm, maybe even a little distant. And she certainly never thought about throwing herself at any man. That wasn't her.
Maybe she should just open the freezer door and climb inside. Maybe that would calm her rioting hormones until she could reclaim control of her wayward thoughts.
Especially when he kept looking at her like that. Like she was an ice cream cone that he wanted to lick up.
And oh, that was such the wrong thought to have, especially when he kept looking at her with those gorgeous brown eyes and that adorable crooked grin.
"I am Jean-Pierre. JP." He held his hand out and she stared down at it, not quite sure what to do.
"You're French!"
"French-Canadian."
Had she insulted him? No, she didn't think so. Although maybe she had said something amusing because his grin widened a little. Then she realized he was still holding his hand out. She reached out with her own, surprised at the warmth of his skin when he folded his fingers over hers. Surprised at how small and pale her hand looked in his.
Surprised even more when he raised her hand to his mouth and lightly grazed her knuckles with his lips. Fire exploded deep inside her, warming her from within as flames licked across her skin. Her fingers tightened around his, as if eager for another touch. Her mind reeled, slightly off-balance before regaining a small semblance of sense.
She tugged her hand from his and pulled it behind her, almost afraid she'd reach for him again. Why was she being so silly? He was just flirting with her. Nothing more. And no matter how much her body might want to, she certainly could not jump him in the frozen foods section of the grocery store, even if it was the desserts aisle. Not even if he was looking at her like that. Watching her. Waiting.
His grin widened as he tossed the pint of ice cream in the air, his eyes never leaving hers.
He caught the pint then leaned forward, his voice whisper-soft and too enticing. "And your name is?"
Of course! Her name. He was waiting for her name. "Emily."
"Emilie. A beautiful name for a beautiful angel."
She snorted. She couldn't help it, would have preferred not to, not when the sound lacked all grace and composure. A beautiful angel? Her? Now she knew he was nothing more than a determined flirt.
"Not hardly."
He raised his brows, in either disbelief or silent question. "You don't think so?"
Emily shook her head. "No, not really."
"Ah. But they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, eh?"
Emily opened her mouth then promptly closed it again. She had no idea what to say, no idea how to respond. He must have sensed her discomfort because he chuckled, the sound low and warm and entirely too dangerous.
"Would you have dinner with me, Emilie? Tomorrow night."
"I—" She blinked, not quite believing her ears. He was asking her out? Seriously? But why? Men like him didn't notice her. Men like him—men who screamed sex appeal—didn't ask women out. Women asked them out. Why would he even be remotely interested in her?
She shook her head and tried to step back. "I don't think—"
"Please? I would very much like to get to know you better."
Maybe it was the melodic tone of his voice. Or the sincerity she heard in the words. Or maybe it was just the novelty of having someone like him notice her, for whatever reason. She didn't know why, only knew that her gut was telling her to say yes.
Or maybe that was nothing more than her traitorous hormones talking.
"I—"
"We can meet somewhere. That way you don't have to tell me where you live. You'll feel safer that way, yes?"
That thought had never even crossed her mind, which let her know more than anything that she needed to have her head examined. Was she actually considering saying yes? Yes, she was.
"Um, okay. Dinner. I can do dinner." Her hormones kicked up a notch and started rejoicing. She mentally kicked them back and tried to offer him—Jean-Pierre, JP—a small smile. "Just dinner."
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