I wanted him to come back so much more than I should. As hard as I tried not to, somehow I’d grown accustomed to my husband. I liked seeing his stupid face every morning, listening to him singing in the shower—off key and very loud. I thought I might actually want to be friends with him. What the heck was that about?
Once the two of us had cleared the air and set some real ground rules about what we could and couldn’t do—no kissing, touching, seduction, and definitely no sex—my rigidness had eased up quite a bit and became more of a general caution. Our problem had never been that I didn’t like Taylor. The problem was that he was way more my type than I wanted to admit, and I wasn’t ready for him. He could ruin me if he wanted to. Allowing that wasn’t on my list of things to do.
“You look good,” he said with a grin. “In my number.”
I didn’t know how to respond. So instead I simply smiled and said, “Thank you. I do try.”
“It’s not something you have to try for. You always look good, hen.”
I wondered if this glimpse of the sweet guy he was giving me—so similar to the man from our first date—was the real him one more time. Why did he feel like he had to hide behind a mask of machismo to think it made him more attractive? Because to me, it was the complete opposite. That cocksure attitude turned me off faster than anything else he could have done.
We drove together to the arena, and I was in awe as we walked through the players’ entrance.
“You can’t seriously tell me you’ve never been to a game. Your sister’s the owner.”
“I’ve never been.”
“You don’t like hockey?”
“I don’t know the rules.”
“And you’d like to play by the rules, don’t you?”
“Yes. Rules keep things organized and fair. Can keep people from getting hurt.”
“Well, you want me to explain them to you now?”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t mind.” He threaded our fingers as we walked through winding corridors in the most secret parts of the arena.
“Then yes, please, explain.”
He detailed the rules of the game in a way I could mostly understand, but I really needed to see him in action before it would all sink in.
“So that’s your job? Are you good at it?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
“Do you like it?”
“Do I like what?”
“Playing defense?”
“Aye, I like it. Of course I do. I wouldn’t have left everything behind so I could chase this dream if I didn’t.”
“And what about...” I stumbled on my words, a little embarrassment creeping up.
“Are you blushing, hen?”
Swallowing back my nerves, I blurted, “I heard somewhere that hockey players often lose their teeth and wear fake ones.” I couldn’t help myself. I chuckled when he opened his mouth and tapped on his teeth.
“Sometimes, yes, that happens. These are mine. All of them, I assure you.”
“Are any of the guys missing teeth?”
“A few.”