Lilah
M y hand is shaking a little as I pick up my wine, and I hope Kincaid doesn’t notice. For some reason, this delicious man seems interested in talking to me, and I don’t want to scare him away by acting like a helpless baby deer.
My heart is throbbing in my chest, my face is on fire and I feel like I can’t quite catch my breath. I’ve felt like that ever since he came over here and deftly shooed the waiter away with just a few words and the confidence of ten men.
He’s not like the boys my age who try to flirt with me at school, all full of bravado and youthful cockiness. Kincaid is different.
He’s confident and assured and completely in control. I don’t know him very well, but I have this sense that Kincaid is the guy who always knows what do to. What to say.
He’s a man with answers, not a boy with questions.
And he’s gorgeous, with thick blond hair that’s just long enough to run his fingers through and blue eyes that have me feeling pinned in place. His square jaw is coated in a layer of blond stubble, and he’s got one of those little dimples in his chin that somehow makes him look even more manly.
“So, ,” he says easily, his deep voice making my stomach dip and swirl and heat pulse between my legs. “Are you in school? Working?”
I normally hate talking to people, especially when it’s a small talk type of situation. But I want to talk to Kincaid. And it’s not just because he’s gorgeous, but because there’s something about him. About his warmth and easy kindness. About the way he absolutely towers over me, making me feel sheltered and safe. Like I’m a tiny little thing he could protect with one arm tied behind his back.
Because Kincaid Campbell is a massive man. He’s well over six feet and probably twice my weight. He’s all broad shoulders and thick arms roped with muscle. But despite his size, I don’t feel intimidated. I like how big he is.
I lick my lips, his blue gaze dropping to my mouth, and I honestly feel a little dizzy. Is this lust?
If it is, I think I like it.
I take another sip of my wine and nod. “I go to U of T,” I say, and instead of asking me to speak up, he shifts closer and lowers his head so that my lips are only inches from his ear. I can pick up traces of his masculine cologne, and it makes butterflies unfurl their wings in my stomach. “I’m doing a degree in business admin.”
He grins as he pulls back slightly. “Smart girl,” he says, and his praise seeps into my bones like a drug. “What’s your favorite class?”
I pause to think about it for a second. “Marketing, I think. Because it’s just as much about understanding how people think as it is selling a product.” And because a part of me thinks that if I can understand people better, maybe I’ll feel more comfortable in the world.
And then, just like that, I’m having an actual conversation with an actual stranger at an actual party. Except Kincaid doesn’t feel like a stranger. From the moment he came over here, he felt like something else.
Something more.
I like the way he leans in to catch my words, the way he chuckles at my lame attempts at humor, the way little lines fan out around his beautiful eyes when he laughs.
I especially like the way he looks at me. It’s like he can’t stop staring at me, which is just fine with me, because I can’t stop staring at him. I’m trying to catalog every detail about him, from his long eyelashes to the scar on one of his knuckles to the way his rounded shoulders and broad chest test the confines of his tailored dress shirt.
“And what do you like to do for fun?” he asks, shifting a tiny bit closer. I can feel the warmth coming off of his huge, muscled body and I wonder what it would feel like to have those massive arms wrapped around me as he held me against his wide chest. A chill races down my spine as heat throbs between my legs at the thought.
“Um, video games?” It comes out like a question, and I cringe inwardly.
He grins at me. “Which ones?” He runs a hand through that blond mane and I start to babble about farming sims and first-person shooters and action-adventure games with puzzle quests. And for some reason, he hangs on every single word that falls out of my mouth.
“Do you ever play The Quest for the EverSpark ?” he asks, and my eyes go wide as I nod.
“Only all the time! It’s one of my favorite games, like, ever.”
“Me, too,” he says. “I haven’t played it in a few months now, but it’s one of my favorite ways to blow off steam after a tough practice or difficult game.”
Something in my chest constricts at the idea of Kincaid needing comforting after a tough day, and suddenly my hand is on his arm.
Who am I right now? Surely not Ferguson, the girl who jumps at her own shadow.
His gaze drops to where my hand lays on his forearm, and he sucks in a breath. As though my touch is somehow affecting him.
Yeah, right. Get a grip, .
“It’s a good way to blow off steam, for sure. I know how hard you guys work and how much pressure’s on the whole team. But probably you especially, given your first line status.”
He blinks slowly. “Yeah. You’re right. About the pressure and…all of it.” He swallows and I gently squeeze his arm.
“You’re gonna be awesome, Kincaid. The whole city is rooting for you.”
He smiles softly, his eyes twinkling in the dim lighting. “As long as you’re rooting for me, too.”
Our eyes meet, and I shiver as something passes between us. Something bigger than lust or hormones or anything like that.
It’s understanding. And longing. And comfort.
“Of course,” I say quietly, and he smiles softly at me, his huge hand landing on top of mine and making my insides go haywire.
“You get it, don’t you? The pressure, the stress, the stakes.”
I nod, biting my lip. “I grew up with it, watching my dad go through the highs and lows of professional hockey. I know what you have on your shoulders right now.” I glance around the party and then back to Kincaid because not looking at him feels wrong. “The hopes and dreams of not just a team, but an entire city. It’s a lot.”
He swallows thickly. “It is.” His thumb traces over the back of my hand, and my nipples go hard and achy at the contact. “It helps having someone to talk to about it, though. Someone who understands.”
We stay like that for a moment, and I feel like we’re suspended in time. I’m held captive by the warmth of his strong hand over mine, the depths of his gorgeous blue eyes, the way the light reflects off of his blond hair, making him look like some kind of god.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips tingle in response. What would it be like to kiss Kincaid? To do more than kiss? My face goes hot as I imagine those big hands on me, touching me where no one else ever has.
Which is insane. There is no way this breathtaking, confident, powerful man is interested in me for anything more than conversation at a party. Plus, he knows I’m the coach’s daughter, so of course he’s being nice.
“So,” he says, making no move to take his hand back, much to my utter joy and relief. “What else do you like to do for fun? Spend time with friends? A boyfriend?”
Something dark glitters in his eyes when he says those last two words. It comes and goes so quickly that I think I must’ve imagined it.
Or maybe this crush I have on Kincaid is scrambling my brain cells.
“My best friend’s name is Sadie, and I have a few other close friends, but I’m…not the most social person. I like to spend time on my own, and bars and clubs aren’t really my thing. Neither is, um…dating,” I say softly, my cheeks flaming again. But all Kincaid does is lean in closer, bringing that warm, masculine scent with him. “But I like to read, watch movies, knit. Oh, and I volunteer.”
Kincaid smiles, those lines around his eyes twisting me up inside. “Really? Where do you volunteer?”
“I’ve done fundraising for the Canadian Cancer Society, I’ve taught chess to kids at the library, and right now I’m re-designing a website for a local women’s shelter.”
For a moment, Kincaid just stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I do a lot of charity work, too,” he finally says. “Giving back is something that’s always been important to me.”
“What kind of charity work?”
“Visiting sick kids in the hospital, building homes through Habitat for Humanity, food drives for local food banks, tree planting. Anything I can do to help people in my community.” He leans in closer. “Between you and me, I love playing hockey, but I don’t really give a shit about the fame that comes with it. So, if I can use the fame for good…” He shrugs. “Makes it worth it, you know?”
I nod, hanging on his every word. “I get that.”
“There’s a Thanksgiving food drive at the food bank on Sunday, the day after the game. You should come.”
I feel like fireworks are going off inside me. “First you invite me to a game, then you ask me to come volunteer with you…” An unfamiliar boldness snakes through my veins. “It’s like you want to see me again.”
Heat smolders in his eyes, pulling me into their sapphire depths. My entire body is pulsing with awareness, my skin overly sensitive. The breeze rustles my hair, brushing it against my neck, and I shiver.
“Of course I want to see you again,” he says, his voice low. His gaze drops to my mouth again and I press my thighs together. I feel like electricity is coursing through me, making me aware of every single nerve ending in my body.
“There you are, pumpkin,” says my dad as he approaches, and Kincaid quickly withdraws from me, taking his hand and his delicious scent with him. “Ah, I see you’ve met Kincaid,” he adds, clapping Kincaid on the shoulder. “Just wait until you see him in action.”
“I’d like to come to the game on Saturday,” I say, feeling a little off balance at how quickly Kincaid pulled away when my dad came over. But of course he did. I’m the coach’s daughter, and I’m sure the last thing Kincaid wants to do is give him the wrong impression about our conversation.
“Great! I’ll get you a pair of tickets. You can bring Sadie.” Something flickers in his eyes when he says my best friend’s name, and he glances away.
I nod and reach for my wine. “That sounds great. Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course. So, what were you two so deep in conversation about?”
“ was telling me about her charity work. I invited her to come with me to the food bank for the Thanksgiving food drive.”
Dad smiles at Kincaid, then turns to me. “That sounds right up her alley, doesn’t it, pumpkin?”
God, I really need him to stop calling me pumpkin in front of Kincaid. It makes me want to turn into a pumpkin.
I make a humming noise and polish off my wine, my cheeks burning.
“Well, I think that’s enough partying for one night,” I say, my attention snagging on the flash of disappointment in Kincaid’s eyes. “I think I’m going to head inside.”
Kincaid opens and closes his mouth and then, with a quick glance at my father, nods. “It was really nice meeting you, . I hope I’ll see you at the game on Saturday.”
Our eyes meet and heat flashes through me. I bite my lip and nod quickly before turning and heading back into the house.
And with every single step I take—past the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hall, into my bedroom—I keep replaying every second of the conversation with Kincaid while telling myself that he was just being nice.
There’s no way the star center would want anything to do with the shy, quiet coach’s daughter, and that’s a fact.