Chrissy’s eyes narrowed. “I see the accident hasn’t changed you. You’re still the same old crude Mark.”
“See you around, Chrissy.” He removed his hand from Chelsea’s back and pushed the cart in the opposite direction from his ex.
Chelsea walked beside the cart and looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. “That was interesting.”
“For who?” he asked, and moved down the cereal aisle.
“Me. She’s exactly the type of woman I’d expect you to marry or date.”
“What type is that?”
“Tall. Pretty. Expensive.”
“I don’t have a type.” He dumped two boxes of Wheaties into the cart. “At least not anymore.”
Mark carried the last bags of groceries into the kitchen and set them on the island. He leaned his cane against the granite top and grabbed a gallon of milk and a couple of packs of cheese. Earlier, his thigh had started to bother him and he’d popped several Vicodin before Derek had arrived on his bike. Now with the pain dulled, he moved with relative ease.
“You don’t have to put my groceries away,” he told Chelsea as she opened several cupboards until she found where he kept his salt.
“What else am I going to do for an hour?” The hem of her skirt rode up the backs of her legs as he watched her put away a box of sea salt.
Mark opened his mouth but forgot what he was going to say. His eyes were glued to her butt and his feet were stuck to the floor like he was a kid again, waiting desperately for a glimpse of female bottom. Instead of a grown man who’d had more ass than he could recall. She lowered her arm, and he moved to the refrigerator and opened the door. “You should probably wear pants the next time Derek is scheduled to come over.” He shoved the milk and cheese inside, but left the door open and returned to the island.
She turned and looked at him. Her brows creased as if she wasn’t going to like the answer to her “Why?”
“I think I’ll have you play in the net.”
Her mouth parted and she shook her head. “No way. That kid said I have a stink eye.”
“I told you that’s just trash talk. Every hockey player has to learn to trash talk. I learned before I joined the traveling team.”
“How old were you?”
He reached for the sour cream and meat and returned to the refrigerator. “Ten.”
“Were you any good?”
He smiled. “I was good at a lot of things on the ice. Starting shit was just one of my many talents.”
She grabbed the counter behind her with both her hands and crossed one foot over the other. “Like making women scream.”
“What?” He shoved everything in those little drawers and shut the door. “Are you talking about my conversation with Chrissy?”
“Yes. That was kind of inappropriate in the middle of Whole Foods.”
He’d just been trying to get a reaction out of his former wife and he had. He’d recognized the irritation in her eyes. Not because it hadn’t been appropriate conversation in the middle of a grocery store, but because he’d reminded her of all the times he’d made her scream. Interesting thing was, he’d stopped caring what Chrissy did or thought a long time ago.
“Are you still in love with her?”
“God no.” So why had he purposely riled his former wife? He wasn’t altogether sure, but it had had something to do with the way his ex had looked at his assistant. Mark recognized that look. Like she was better because she was porking an old guy for better seats at country club events.
Chelsea pushed herself away from the counter and walked toward him, the heels of her pumps a light, sexy tap tap across the tile. “How long have you been divorced?”
“A little over a year.”
She picked up his boxes of Wheaties and moved to the cupboard next to the stove. She opened the door and stood on her tiptoes. Her heel slipped out of one shoe and the hem of her skirt slid up her thighs. The cereal belonged in the pantry, but who was he to stop the show. “What went wrong?” she asked as she reached way above her head with a box in each hand.
“Chrissy loves money. Lots of money.” He moved up behind her and took the cereal from her. “She left me for someone with more money and a better seat at the country club.”