Jacqui sighed, the sound so dramatic and theatrical that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. She put the hat she'd been shaping on the small counter then walked around it. The heels of her shoes clicked against the hard floor, the sound reminding me of hail pattering against glass. I eyed her shoes with the faintest hint of jealousy, wondering how she managed to walk in them without tottering and falling over. The five-inch stilettos were made of shiny black patent leather with long laces that crisscrossed her muscular calves before stopping an inch or two below her knee. They were the kind of shoes designed to draw attention—and break an ankle if you weren't careful, especially on the uneven sidewalks and streets of the Quarter.
Jacqui must have noticed my envious look because she offered me a knowing smile. "Practice, cher. Lots of practice." She settled on the stool behind the counter, crossed her long legs, then placed her clasped hands in her lap. "Now back to this man of yours and what I'm worried about."
"I was right, then. You really are worried about something."
"Maybe not worried so much as cautious."
"About what?"
"I don't like coincidences, Addy. I never have. And I find it awfully coincidental that you two ended up together. And I don't like the fact that he stood you up only to chase you down after seeing you at your father's party."
"But he'd been looking for me—"
"So he says."
"And I believe him."
"You don't even know him, cher."
"But I do. Enough, anyway."
"Addy, I've known you for more than three years, ever since you walked through that door with your little book filled with clothing designs. And in all that time, I've never seen you like this over any man. I just don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm not going to get hurt. It's not like that." I pulled my gaze from Jacqui's and focused on unpacking the rest of the hats. "We're just having fun."
"Are you sure he's not just using you? I mean, your father does own the team."
"He's not using me, Jacqui. Seeing me wouldn't help him at all."
"Then maybe it's a question of going after something you're not supposed to have. That taste of the forbidden fruit. Some men are like that."
I didn't miss the bitter sadness in her voice and wondered if she was talking from experience. There was still so much I didn't know about her, about her past, despite the fact that she was one of my closest friends.
I also didn't miss the subtle warning in her voice, or the suspicion. And as much as I wanted to, I couldn't quite stifle the annoyance her words caused. "Nathan isn't like that."
"I really hope you're right, cher, but what if you're not?"
"He's not like that," I repeated. "In fact, being with me could cause him problems if Daddy found out."
"You don't think your daddy knows?"
"No, he doesn't know." I was certain of that. Daddy suspected something was going on, that much was clear after our little discussion yesterday morning over breakfast.
He hadn't interrogated me about my whereabouts Sunday night the way I'd expected, especially after missing dinner with the Hardings. But he had watched me a little too closely and I could see all the unasked questions in his eyes. He wanted to know where I'd been and, more importantly, who I'd been with. He didn't approve of the time I spent in the Quarter or my job here in the boutique. He didn't approve of what he called my 'hobby' designing outfits. And he most certainly didn't approve of the few friends of mine he'd met, including Jacqui.
Especially Jacqui.
And if he found out about Nathan? If he knew I was spending time with one of his players—that I was sleeping with one of his players? No, that wouldn't be good a thing. At all. And as much as I hated lying to my father—was hiding the truth the same as lying?—I didn't want to think about what he might do if he did find out.
"What if he finds out?" Jacqui's question was so close to what I'd been thinking that I wondered if she had the ability to read minds. I cast her a questioning glance and she shrugged in reply. "I can see everything you're thinking on your face."
"Oh." I brushed the lint from the brim of one hat with a little too much force. "Daddy won't find out. Besides, I already told you that Nathan and I are just having fun. It's nothing more than that."
"And you're absolutely certain of that, cher?"
"Yes. Of course."
"I just worry about you."
"I know you do. And that means more than you know. But I don't think you'd worry so much if you met Nathan."
"I did meet him. Or don't you remember what happened last week?"
"I mean really meet him. Sit down and talk to him—without hitting him. Take the time to get to know him."
"We tried that already, if you remember. I believe he stood you up."
I put the hat down, deliberately ignoring her reference to last week as I faced her. "We're meeting tomorrow night for dinner. A few of his teammates will be there, too. You should join us."
"I don't think—"
"I want you to meet him, Jacqui. Get to know him. Then you'll see he doesn't have any ulterior motives and that you're worried over nothing."
Jacqui watched me for several long minutes before reluctantly nodding her agreement. And as happy as I was that she was going to join me, I couldn't shake the feeling that she'd already made her mind up about Nathan and that nothing would change it.
Which simply meant that I'd have to prove her wrong—and I would.
Chapter Fourteen
Nathan
Muscles stretched and burned, a fire in my thighs and calves as I dug in and pushed. The fire wasn't a pain to be shied away from, it was a sensation to revel in. To embrace. To feel. The same way I felt the breeze wash over my sweaty face. The same way the cold air filled my heaving lungs.
This was physical exertion. The kind my body craved, the kind it demanded. It meant I was working, doing what I loved the most, accomplishing something. I might bitch about sore muscles later, or complain about the smell of stale ice and sweat that lingered in my nose for hours after practice, but they weren't things I'd trade for the world. The sweat, the pain, the long hours and pushing my body to its limits and beyond—those were the payments for doing what I loved most and I'd gladly pay them ten times over if it meant I wouldn't have to stop.
And I wouldn't—as long as I didn't fuck up again.
I tapped my blade against the ice, reached with my stick to catch the puck that Nicholas Shore had passed a little too wide. Stretching, reaching, feeling the reverberation with my entire body as the puck made contact with my stick. It was a sensation I couldn't explain, almost like the stick was a part of me, living and breathing and feeling. The only other people who would understand were the men skating around the ice with me, pushing and swearing and sweating as much as I was.
I spun to my right and came to a sharp stop a split second before sending the puck sailing through the air. It flew end-over-end, its wobbly trail a far cry from the smooth and straight shot I'd hoped for. My gaze followed the puck as it sailed toward the net and I waited, my breath held, as Luke slid to his right to catch it before it hit the back of the net.