Andrew #2
Before Andrew can say anything else, Harper takes off through the bookstore to the back, where he assumes the office is. He smiles, shakes his head, and walks over to the pastry case.
Normally, during the off-season, he tries to keep to a semi-strict diet. Not as harsh as during the season, but enough to keep himself in shape. Since coach had basically told him to do some soul searching, he figures that he can have a pastry or two.
Nothing says finding yourself like puff pastry, cheese and sugar.
“Harper slow down!” a laughing voice says from his right. Andrew turns to see Harper dragging the woman from before behind her .
They practically skid to a halt in front of Andrew, and he grins as he lets his eyes wander over Danielle. She’s in dark wash skinny jeans, and a short-sleeved linen button up that hangs off her shoulder. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she looks as flustered as he’s starting to feel.
“You,” she says.
“Me,” he confirms.
“Aunt D,” Harper says, “this man wants coffee and I told him you make the best.”
“Harper, you know you aren’t supposed to talk to strangers,” Danielle says, sternly, glancing up at Andrew with annoyance in her eyes.
“He’s not a stranger , Aunt D,” Harper says, “he’s Andy, and he’s in a secret club with me. His dog is named Roscoe .”
“That explains so much,” Danielle says, ruffling Harper’s hair. “How about you go finish your muffin, and I’ll take his order?”
“Okay!” she says, cheerfully. She looks up at Andrew. “You can sit at my table. Roscoe can come, too. ”
Before he can respond, she bounces away, and Roscoe moves to follow her. Andrew drops his leash so he can, and the dog lays underneath the table at Harper’s feet as she takes a massive bite of her muffin.
“A secret club?” Danielle asks, moving behind the counter.
“My dog is named after a character from Dukes of Hazzard ,” Andrew says with a shrug, “she guessed it and told me that no one watches that show.”
“You might just be her hero,” Danielle says, voice quiet, a faraway look in her eyes, “it’s her favorite show. What can I get for you?”
“An iced vanilla latte with oat milk would be great,” he says, “and then two of the Danishes.”
“I thought hockey types don’t eat sugar,” Danielle says, then she slaps a hand over her mouth, as if she could take back the words.
His heart sinks. She knows who he is, and that means her bias against him is already in place.
This whole trip here was pointless.
“Not during the off season,” he shrugs, playing casual even though it feels like a little bit of the world just dropped out from under his feet. He pulls his wallet out and taking his card from one of the slots .
“No intense diet restrictions then?” she asks, raising a brow.
“We’re loose cannons during the off season.” He says, handing the card to her.
“Loose cannon, huh?” she asks. “Something tells me you don’t even know what that means.”
“Want to bed?” he asks, dropping his voice an octave and hoping he sounds flirty. Then he realizes what he said, and his eyes widen. “Bet! Bet, I meant bet, I swear.”
“You want to take me to bed, Fisher?” she asks, raising a brow. “Little early for that, don’t you think?”
This girl can play the game.
“You should at least get me dinner, first.”
“One of the Danishes is for you.”
“That doesn’t count,” she says, “not even close. I can’t be bought with puff pastry.”
“Who said anything about buying you?” he asks, bending over and leaning his elbows on the counter to get a better look at her. “I’d drive you so crazy, you’d give in to me for free.”
“What makes you so sure? ”
He lowers his voice again, meets her eyes, leans even closer. “Years of making women scream does things to a man’s confidence.”
Danielle’s face flushes and she turns away, leaving him feeling like he finally has the upper hand.
“I’ll have your coffee right out,” she says. He nods even though she can’t see, making no move to leave the counter. “You can sit, if you want.”
“I like the view right here,” he says, grinning and watching her every move. “Those legs.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she says, “they aren’t coming anywhere near where you want them. Now, or ever.”
“You say that,” he teases as she turns around.
“I mean it.” She slides a plate with his pastries on it, and turns to make his coffee. He backs down, not wanting to give her a reason to bolt. Or have him arrested. “So, you’re friends with Jet?”
“He’s my best friend,” Andrew replies, offering the information freely. “We played in the AHL together, and got signed to the NHL team in Raleigh the same year.”
She hands him his coffee.
“Ten eighty,” she says .
He hands his card to her and watches her swipe it. She hands it back without saying anything, and moves to step around the counter and away from him.
“That’s it?” he asks, confused about what’s happening. “No follow-up questions or autograph requests? No angry comments about me losing the Stanley Cup?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, rolling her eyes, condescension dripping in every word. “You must be under the impression that I care about who you are.”
“I—”
“I didn’t care when you knocked over a stack of books a week ago,” she says, “and I definitely don’t care now. You’re a paying customer who, for your information, is absolutely not my type. Even if you were, I’m not interested.”
“You seemed pretty interested a minute ago,” Andrew says, raising a brow and taking a sip of his coffee, “when I talked about making women scream.”
“I’m. Not. Interested.” Danielle grinds out.
“I know two people here,” Andrew says, shrugging, “I was just trying to make friends.”
“Oh, is that what you call it?” Danielle asks .
“You can be my friend, Andy!” Harper chimes in from behind him. He grins.
“I know three people, now,” he says. “I know I’m only in town for a couple of months, but it would be nice to know more.”
She steps around him, squaring her shoulders, and disappears in the back of the store. The joke is on her, because now he knows her hair smells like rose petals, and that she’s going to be a challenge.
Andrew has never been able to resist a challenge.