Chapter Two
GAH, why am I staring up at the face of Aiden Wentworth? Couldn’t the voice belong to a valet? A server? An employee of Collings Motors that I’d never have to see again?
“Erm,” I say, trying to carefully unstick the hair from my face in the most nonchalant way ever, “I am the victim of two things. A gust of wind from that side door and some cosmetics with some incredible tackiness.”
I feel my hair leave makeup tracks in my cheek as I peel it away. I try to act like this is no big deal, and through the one eye that isn’t obscured, I take in Aiden, as this is the first time I’ve met him in person.
First of all, he’s huge. I know he’s six four, but seeing him in front of me reminds me of exactly how tall that is.
Aiden is broad shouldered and muscular, and it’s easy to see why he’s a defenseman, with this body made for that kind of physical position.
His hair is brownish-blond, with thick, unruly waves.
There’s a lock of it that’s fallen down across his forehead in a dramatic fashion, nearly touching his eyebrow.
What is it about that wayward lock of hair that’s so damn appealing?
I make myself move on to take in his face. Again, I’ve seen Aiden on TV, so I know what he looks like, I know he’s gorgeous, but I wasn’t prepared for this.
Aiden is even more handsome than he is on TV or Connectivity Story Share, and I can’t believe I’m even thinking that, because I thought he was hot before.
But he’s one hundred percent hotter in person.
I take in his full lips and strong jawline and a scar over his left eyebrow. My gaze quickly takes the rest of him in, looking at the sharp suit he’s wearing. It’s a double-breasted navy suit. Double-freaking-breasted, with a peak lapel. It’s paired with a crisp white dress shirt and navy tie.
The man knows how to dress.
I finally meet his gaze, and I see Aiden’s brows draw down in a confused V. I don’t even want to think about what a mess I must look like right now. I continue to try and pick things out of my goo, and without a mirror, this is proving harder than it looks.
“You have a feather there,” he points out helpfully, motioning to the right side of my face.
I tap my fingers along my face. I pick out one feather—the annoying one near my nose—and Aiden frowns. “It’s wrapped in your hair,” he says.
“Here?” I ask, moving my fingers upward.
“No, down a bit, to the left.”
I move my hand to the left side of my face and feel nothing.
He begins to laugh, a low, rumbling sound that sends goose bumps rippling across my skin. “Sorry,” he says, his face lighting up in a soft smile. “I meant my left. Your right.”
I stop messing with the feathers and hair, my gaze transfixed on his face. His smile is gentle, and something about it sends butterflies flittering in my stomach.
I don’t move my hand to my right, my fingertips frozen in place.
Aiden pauses for a moment. “May I?”
I blink in confusion. May he what?
“Um, may I remove the feather for you, I mean,” he clarifies.
“Oh! Um, yes, that would be helpful.”
Aiden clears his throat. He lifts his hand toward me, but hesitates a moment before doing anything.
For some strange reason, I suck in a breath of air in anticipation.
Then he moves his fingertips to my face.
I feel his roughened fingertips against my skin, skimming ever so lightly across the surface.
He carefully plucks the feather out of my hair, setting it on the table next to us.
I’m about to thank him when he reaches back up, carefully moving my hair off my cheek, then pushing it back over my shoulder.
“There,” he says, “now I can see your face.”
My heartbeat quickens. I know one thing from the way he’s looking at me. He has no idea I’m the coach’s daughter.
“Thank you,” I manage to say. Then I smile at him. “I’m sure the rest of my face is a mess. I need a mirror so I can do damage control. Will you excuse me for a moment while I go to the ladies’ room?”
“I don’t know,” he says, his gray eyes sparkling.
His eyes are so pretty up close, I think, studying them. They truly are a shade of gray, and those unusual eyes are fringed by long, inky-black eyelashes.
“You’re not going to let me go to the ladies’ room?” I ask, quirking a brow playfully at him.
Now his mouth tips upward in a knowing smile. “Ah, but that wasn’t your question,” he says. “You asked if I would excuse you. I said I didn’t know if I would.”
Ooh, he’s clever. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to a clever man.
And I love clever.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I ask.
“I will excuse you if you promise to come back,” he says softly.
OOH!
“I’ll come back,” I say.
“Then you’re excused,” he teases.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise.
As I move past him, I see a gaggle of fans lined up to talk to him. I smile. Perhaps I’ll join that queue when I return, just to surprise him.
I make my way through the crowd. My mood deflates a bit as I catch a glimpse of my dad talking to people near the bar. I know I need to tell Aiden who I am. If guys on the team recognize me, they’re friendly, but they don’t show an interest in me the way he did.
A shiver runs through me. He’s definitely interested.
But worse, I’m interested in him, too.
I return to the ladies’ room, and as soon as I see my reflection in the mirror, I gasp in horror, forgetting about Aiden for a moment.
I’m not a hot mess.
I’m a freaking disaster.
The shimmer goo that I thought was such a brilliant idea is not merely on my cheekbones, providing a glowy highlight. I look like I’ve bathed my face in gooey glitter.
GAH!
Worse, where the feathers and hair got stuck, there are now streaks that remind me of when you see tire tracks in mud. Now I completely regret that Aiden pulled my hair away from my face so he could see it better, because this is what he saw.
OY.
I quickly grab some paper towels out of the dispenser and begin to blot my face.
Then I pause and look in the mirror. I’m still sparkling.
I frown. Or I look sweaty. Ew.
No. I’m sparkling. I refuse to think I look sweaty.
I smile wryly to myself. That’s me putting a kind public-relations spin on the description. But if they turned out the lights in this place, my face could lead the way to all the nearest exits.
Stupid glow balm. And stupid me for giving it a test run tonight of all nights.
I decide to work on the tire tracks and remove the faint streak of red that has traveled up my cheek.
I push my hair back into place and reapply my lipstick.
Then I remove my powder compact from my clutch, and test putting some over a patch of skin.
Crap! Instead of muting the glow, the powder cakes up in the space where I put it.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips. I have no choice but to go back out there and celebrate Casino Night like I’ve bathed in a tube of body glitter.
Fabulous.
Accepting my fate, I leave the ladies’ room and make my way back to where I left Aiden.
Sure enough, he’s still there, surrounded by a group of fans.
I stand a bit back, content to watch him for a moment.
Aiden came to the Manatees this summer as part of a trade with Salt Lake City, joining his brother Wyatt on the team.
He’s the older brother and quickly proved himself in training camp as a quiet, strong leader.
My dad was so impressed by him and his work ethic that he made him an alternate captain—something he’s never done before, naming someone so new to the team as an alternate.
I remember what Dad told me about him. That Aiden could see things on the ice in ways other players could only dream of.
Not only see them, but process them, too.
He keeps a calm head—Dad knew that from watching video of his time in Salt Lake City.
He also talked about his creative skating style—Aiden not only knows how to create space on the ice, but is brilliant at changing directions, too.
I smile to myself. These are the kinds of conversations I have with my dad.
I love hockey. I’ve grown up with him coaching it and two older brothers playing it, and it’s definitely in my blood.
My dad respects my knowledge of the game and talks to me like he would anyone on his coaching staff, which I love.
So I know a lot about Aiden Wentworth the defenseman.
But I know nothing about Aiden Wentworth the man.
I hadn’t been present at any of the season-ticket-holder activities because I’ve been busy with my own job for Real Miami FC.
I love what I do, but it keeps me very busy.
However, the season is over now, so I have more time to do things like this.
Go to these fan events to support my dad and the team, and to have a good time.
And maybe get to know Aiden a little bit better.
But as soon as that idea goes through my head, I know it’s something that will never happen.
I have to tell Aiden who I am, and the second I do, I’ll see the look of recognition dawn in his eyes.
He’ll see me in a whole different lens. Not as the woman he began talking to while picking feathers off her face, but as the coach’s daughter.
Which means there will be an instant barrier put up between us, and our conversation will become friendly chitchat and nothing more.
I sigh. I know the rules. I would never dream of pursuing anything with one of Dad’s players. And I know the players definitely don’t think of pursuing me.
I thoughtfully chew the inside of my cheek as I study Aiden once again, this time as he signs a picture a young woman is holding out to him.
He looks down at it, and a sheepish smile passes over his face, as if he’s embarrassed.
I wonder if the woman presented him a picture of when he was younger.
That’s a huge social media trend everyone is hopping on right now.