Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

His hand felt so good in hers. Big and warm. Six short days, and she’d already forgotten how good it felt when he touched her. She closed her fingers around his, and her chest knotted at the rightness of it.

She searched beyond those damned blinders and stereotypes and fears, the way Tori had with her research.

And she found solid ground.

Yes, she really wanted to see where this went.

Eden nodded and smiled up at him. “Okay. Breakfast.”

13

Beckett’s knee jittered as he navigated the streets of downtown DC. His gut was tight, the way it squeezed when he was on the bench, watching other guys play instead of being out there himself.

“Five-game winning streak,” Eden said, pulling her gaze from the passenger’s window.

Her hair was down and loose. She’d come out of the ambulance company in inky jeans, a San Diego hoodie, and not an ounce of makeup. And she looked freaking gorgeous.

“Mmm-hmm.” He wanted to ask if she’d watched or caught that on the news. Wanted to ask if her feelings toward the game had changed. Wanted to ask her if touching him after six days felt as good to her as touching her felt to him.

God, he was such an asshole.

He’d waited outside her work on purpose, knowing it would probably spook her. He’d planned this breakfast for the same reason. She didn’t know it yet, but it wasn’t going to be what she expected. He’d justified it by telling himself he wanted to see if she had what it took to fit in with the people who mattered to him. He wanted to know if she could roll with the perpetual changes inherent in his life. But the truth was, he was looking for a reason to weed her out. An excuse to push her to the back of his mind and move on.

But that had been before she’d walked out of the building and he’d locked eyes with her. Before those bizarre pangs kicked up. Before she’d smiled and agreed to take another chance on him, even after he’d been a creep and borderline stalked her. And now, he was stuck with his stupid plan already in motion, far too aware of how fully this could backfire on him.

“I didn’t know Porsche made SUVs.” Her smile felt like sugar and sunshine all wrapped into one beam that pierced his chest. “Sort of an oxymoron, right? When you think Porsche, you think race car. A Porsche SUV is just…” She seemed to take stock of her words and backpedaled. “But…I mean…it’s nice.”

He stopped at a traffic light and squeezed her hand. “Don’t blow smoke. Truth, remember?”

“It is nice. I didn’t want you to think I—”

“I’m not that sensitive.”

She seemed to like that. Her smile returned and reached her eyes. “Okay.”

And they stared at each other for a long, hot second.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The words were out, floating around the car before Beckett realized he’d said them and not thought them. “Sorry. I’ve never been really good at keeping inside thoughts inside.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, then shook her head and looked out the window again. “Where are we going? There aren’t any restaurants in this area. Are you lost? I know just about every street in this city.”

Of course she did. He’d forgotten all about that.

He released a nervous breath. “Uh…” he hedged. “We’re almost there.”

“You don’t sound as happy about that as you did when you picked me up.”

He turned down their final street and slowed. “Yeah, well, that’s because I thought there was a damn good chance you were going to turn me down.”

She gave him a silly frown. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Beckett turned into the YMCA parking lot, where balloons and banners for the fundraiser flew. “We’re here.” He feigned excitement but braced for…hell, he didn’t even know what to expect. Anger, disappointment… “Surprise?”

“The Y,” she said, part what the hell, part humor.

“Let me guess, you’ve been here a time or two.”

“Or ten.” She looked over the YMCA, took in the balloons and banners, eyes narrowed. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope, can’t figure this one out on my own. You’re gonna have to help me.”