“But you’re not into hook-ups?”
Mustard pools on his plate and he dips the end of his hot dog into it. “It’s hockey season. I keep my focus on the game. I don’t let anything distract me.”
“Like alcohol or women.” He arches a brow and I continue with, “You ordered us both a soda at the bar after I said I was done drinking, and I’m guessing that’s what was in your glass before I arrived. And that woman, Candy,” I say drawing out her name. “She was an easy mark, Rider. I bet she had a bullseye right here,” I say, and twist in the stool to point to the small of my back.
Rider laughs. “What about you? Are you into hook-ups?”
“Not really.”
“Then why did you want me to be your wingman?”
“I can talk to a guy, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to go home with him, you know.” He frowns and takes another big bite of his hot dog, nearly devouring half of it already. “What? Is that a foreign concept to you, or something?” He looks upward as he chews, like he’s thinking hard on that. “Oh, I get it. Puck bunnies. God’s gift to hockey players.”
He nods, and takes a drink of his soda to wash down his food. “What about you? Every guy’s fantasy is to walk into the bedroom to find his woman dressed in a naughty nurse uniform.”
“Not yours, though, right?” I take a pull from my straw. “You know, seeing as you don’t like nurses.”
“That’s right.” He’s about to take a drink and stops, his eyes widening. “Wait. Do you have one of those outfits?”
“No, I don’t have one, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wear something so ridiculous.”
“I don’t think it’s ridiculous. A lot of guys are into that kind of thing. You must have a ton of scrub bunnies afte
r you.”
“Scrub bunnies? That’s not even a thing, Rider. You’re insane.”
“What would you call them?” he asks as he kicks his legs out to get comfortable, his feet touching mine under the table. Why the hell does every touch feel so electric?
“I don’t think guys are bunnies. Maybe hounds.”
His cute grin is back. “Hospital hounds?”
“Yeah, that’s more like it. Candy said you don’t do relationships,” I say switching subjects as I glance at the big velvet picture of Elvis adorning the wall beside me. “Is that just for hockey season, or are you a sworn bachelor for life?”
“Aren’t you full of questions tonight.” Like we’ve done it a hundred times before, he reaches out and swipes his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “You’re the messiest eater.”
“I am not. You are. You’ve got mustard all over your face. You look like a big Cheeto. You’re going to blend in with the walls soon.”
He grins and, my God, I want to touch that dimple. “You think I’m big?”
I laugh. Hard. “Really?” I shake my head. “That’s what you took from that?”
“Sworn bachelor for life,” he admits. “What about you?”
“Right guy just hasn’t come along yet?” Or maybe he has, and my regimented ways, the fact that I always try to control my emotions and my surroundings, sent him packing.
Loosen up once in a while, will you.
As my ex’s words ping around my brain—words he’d spoken to me in the bedroom—Rider looks at me long and hard. “Ever been serious?”
I shake all thoughts of Jason from my brain. “Ah, not really.” With the long day taking its toll on me, topped off by the food coma I’m now suffering, a yawn I have no control over rumbles in my throat.
Rider grins. “Am I boring you?”
I cover my mouth and shake my head. No woman could ever be bored in his presence. I know I’m not. “No. Sorry. It’s been a long night.”
“How about I take you home?” He pulls the keys from his pocket. “Kane owns a Ferrari 306 Spider, and I can get you home super-fast.” A fine shiver goes through me and he angles his head, those astute eyes of his assessing me. “Wait, I take it you’re not a thrill seeker like me.”