Emerie lays her hand on my thigh. I immediately tense, heat flowing south as I’m hyperaware of her touching me only inches from my groin. I’m also hyperaware of my boss sitting near us, his expression grim. Of course, that’s his usual expression, which explains why most of us feel our assholes pucker when we’re called to his office. I’m not convinced he doesn’t have mob connections.
Okay, that was a dumb thing to say to Emerie that night.
The game ends in a tie.
“What happens now?” Emerie asks.
“Overtime,” I say. “Sudden death. First we play three on three.”
“Just three players?”
“Yep. For five minutes. If nobody scores, it goes to a shoot out.”
“Owen won the game for us the last time we had a shoot out,” Mr. D’Agostino tells her.
“Really?” She beams a smile on me.
A cold knot in my chest softens. “Nah. Our goalie won the game for us by making the next save.”
Mr. D’Agostino’s eyes flicker.
“I don’t understand that,” Emerie says. “But you sound modest.”
My face warms and I shake my head.
“They’re starting right away,” Emerie observes.
“Yep.”
“Do you get tired?” she asks. “Overtime must be hard.”
“Yeah, we get tired. But that’s what we train for.”
She squeezes my thigh. “That’s why you only eat healthy food.”
“Sure.”
I’m kind of hoping Mr. D’Agostino leaves, but nope, he remains seated, watching the game with us. Great.
“I’ll go check on Cat,” Emerie says. “Be right back.”
She disappears, leaving me and Mr. D alone. Hoo boy.
I’m tempted to make a comment about how much time Emerie spends looking after her sister, but keep my lips zipped. Then I’m tempted to say something about Moretti being at the game in Dr. D’s box. Big nope to that too. “Whoa,” I say, eyes on the game. “Close one.”
If it weren’t for the game, the silence in the room would be excruciating.
Emerie returns only a few seconds before Washington scores.
“Yes!” Mr. D lifts his arms.
“Wait, was that Washington?” she asks. “Did they change ends?”
“Yeah, for the overtime.”
The game over, Mr. D and I talk about standings for a few minutes while Emerie tries to look interested. I take pity on her. “Hey, want to go out and get a drink?”
She gives me a blank look, then says, “Oh, sure!”
My fingers are crossed (figuratively) that Mr. D doesn’t tag along with us. That would be pretty ballsy.
We’re in luck. He says goodnight and leaves.
“We don’t have to go anywhere,” Emerie whispers when he’s gone. “I gather you were trying to get rid of him.”
“I was. Your call. We can stay here a while longer.”
She picks up a bowl of popcorn. “I’m fine with that.”
They cut away from the game to Sports Wrap, and the two on-air personalities immediately start analyzing the game we just watched.
“So, you have a game tomorrow night,” she says.
“Ha, yeah, against Washington.”
“They’ll be tired. You can beat them.”
I nod. “It can be hard playing back-to-backs. We’ll see.”
“I guess I’ll come to the game again.”
“We could go out after the game.”
Our eyes meet. And hold. Finally, she says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
11
Emerie
Am I imagining it, or does Owen look disappointed?
“I just mean, we don’t need to get more people involved in this crazy plot than necessary. Your friends will all think we’re really dating.”
“They already do. They saw us at the game, remember? I got shit about it for days. And they don’t even know you’re Mr. D’s stepdaughter.”
“Really?” I stare at him. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay. I just ignore them. But you should at least come down to the lounge before you leave after the game so Mr. D thinks we’re going out.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
The truth is, I’d love to go out with Owen after the game. I’m having so much fun tonight. Believe me, I’m as surprised as anyone that I’m having fun watching a hockey game. Being with Owen is…well, fun. It’s kind of exciting. We’re flirting and touching—holy hotness, when I put my hand on his thigh, I thought my clothes were going to incinerate right off me. His thighs are huge. And hard. I couldn’t resist a glance at his feet. Yes, they’re big. I bet he’s big all over. Oh God.
It’s not just his muscles, though. He’s funny. And smarter than I think I gave him credit for. Maybe the only thing he knows is hockey, but he knows a lot about it. That’s…hot.
I resist the urge to fan my face as heat slides up into it.
“Okay, I guess we could go out after the game,” I say.
He nods.
“Has anyone said anything about…you dating me? I mean your coach, or the manager?”
“No.”
I nod slowly. “That’s good.”
“Yep.”
I nibble my lip. “I hope Vince doesn’t get involved.”
“I hope so too.” He grimaces and shoves a hand into his hair. I watch his fingers slide through the thick mass. I’d like to do that…
I shake my head.
“Well, I should get going.”
“Okay.” I nod and stand. “I’ll walk out with you.”
We stroll to the door and I hand him his jacket from the closet. Vince is apparently in the living room. I hear him moving around there. As Owen and I pause at the door, he walks past the French doors opening.
Owen bends his head and kisses me.
Startled, I flinch back.
He slides an arm around me and pulls me closer. “He sees us,” he murmurs against my lips. “Kiss me goodnight.”
My eyes are wide, staring into his, a deep, mesmerizing cobalt blue like the sky just after sunset. Then I let my eyes fall closed and I kiss him back, softening against him.
Daaaaaamn….
His mouth is as perfect on my lips as it is to look at—soft, sensual, but firm and warm. He tastes amazing as his tongue slides over my bottom lip, and he draws back.
My eyes flutter open and meet his again. A hot haze shimmers around us.
“I’d apologize,” he whispers. “But…”
“I know.” I give a slow blink, my insides hopping and skipping erotically.
“See you tomorrow night,” he says, louder, giving me a last brush of his mouth on mine, then opens the door.
When it closes, I lean against it. Whoa. That was the hottest kiss I’ve ever had. Holy hell.
Vince appears in the door opening. I straighten quickly and face him.
“Dating him is not a good idea, Emerie.”
I lift my chin. “Why not?”
“He’s a hockey player.”
“What’s wrong with that?”