“I can do that.” She placed the container on the counter and turned on the coffee machine. “Creamer? Sugar?”
“Black, please.”
“Why am I not surprised?” There was that smile again, but I didn’t take the bait.
I cleared my throat, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?”
“You can blame my parents for that. They seem to think you need yourself a tour guide since Carson is busy.”
“I don’t.”
“Which is exactly what I told them.” She let out a little huff of irritation. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, my parents can be very persuasive. Besides, I do feel bad about being rude to you.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Are you always this hospitable?”
“Before ten in the morning and at least two strong coffees? You bet your ass I am.”
“I thought all college athletes had to stick to a strict diet and off-season training regime.”
“Do I look like I need a strict diet and training regime?” Unable to resist, I ran a hand down my six-pack, and Dayna blushed. But she was right—I did have to stick to my training schedule, or Coach would kick my ass.
“Can you… uh, go put on a shirt or something?”
“Why? Do my abs make you uncomfortable?” I tensed my pecs, and her eyes turned to saucers.
Dayna spun around and pretended to make the coffee, but I caught the way the tips of her ears turned pink too.
Interesting.
“I’ll be right back.” I slipped out of the kitchen, grabbed my hoodie off the coatrack, and pulled it over my head before heading back. “Better?”
She glanced over, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Much. Here.” Dayna slid a mug of coffee toward me. “Muffin?”
“Sure, why not.” The corner of my mouth tipped.
“You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“I can go back to being a grumpy asshole if you’d prefer?”
“No, no. I think I prefer this Aiden.”
We shared another smile.
What the fuck was happening?
This wasn’t me. I didn’t hang out with girls, drinking coffee, and eating apology muffins. But Dayna and her family had some weird ability to pull you into their orbit. Like magnets. And there was something about the way she looked at me. It wasn’t like the puck bunnies at college who all wanted their five minutes of fame with a Laker. They didn’t care about who I was beyond the number nineteen jersey I wore and how many goals I scored.
“So, the boyfriend—”
“We are not talking about Josh,” Her tone cooled. “Or about the fact you tried to kiss me.”
“Fine. But I don’t want to talk about hockey or why I’ve been exiled to Dupont Beach.”
“Fine.” She gave a little shrug, but I didn’t miss the way her lips twitched. “Now eat, and drink up. I’ve got a whole day of sightseeing planned. You’re going to need your energy.”
* * *