Chapter 16
16
NICKY
I follow Ronan to the main house. I wander around, giving myself a little tour while he takes a quick shower.
Then he grabs his wallet and keys. Next, we climb into his flashy sports car. The shiny vehicle seems so impractical for the midwest winter drive, but he blasts the heater to the max, and I melt into bliss.
Before pulling out of the yard, Ronan starts fiddling with his stereo and his phone. I fully expect loud, obnoxious music to start blasting from the speakers. Every guy I know has his driving jams, right? Lordy—Harry’s pregame playlist screams so hard I get an instant headache every time I get into his car.
As I buckle my seatbelt, I’m bracing myself for immediate ear pain. But once again today, Ronan Brighton proves me wrong. When he hits the end of the driveway and pushes play, an old audio recording filters through the car. I listen closely, not quite sure I’m hearing right. Are you shitting me?
My gaze shifts to him. “Is that Earl…um, Earl What’s-His-Face…?” I search my brain for the last name.
He looks at me, seemingly as surprised as I am. “Earl Nightingale. Yes. You’ve heard of him?”
“My dad probably listened to this same audio a million times when we used to work together back in Chicago,” I say with a chuckle. The nostalgia of it causes a faint twitch in my chest. A happy twitch, though.
Popular in the fifties, Earl’s motivational styles were starkly different from what you hear nowadays. The outdated radio recordings are so old, they crackle, despite how fancy Ronan’s speakers are.
Ronan nods slowly. “My old college coach introduced me to this tape. It’s been my favorite go-to ever since.”
“So, Ronan Brighton listens to motivational tapes?”I don’t think I’m doing a great job of hiding my shock.
“I do,” he responds with a little chuckle of his own.
As we drive down the mountain toward the heart of town, it becomes clear that we both know the words to the audio by heart.We listen intently, both mumbling along with Earl’s smooth voice.
He glances over at me.
“What?” I ask.
His shoulder lifts and falls. “Not many people know of good, ole Earl these days. At least, not the people I meet.”
“That’s true,” I concede.
I glance in Ronan’s direction, and we make eye contact across the console. He grins at me, and I just can’t help but grin back. A warm feeling comes over me, momentarily making me forget all the reasons why I need to keep my walls up.
“Look at that. We have something in common.” He does a little dance in his seat.
“One teensy, tiny thing. Let’s not get carried away,” I shoot back.
He shrugs. “Gotta start somewhere. Next thing you know, we’ll be friends.”
I turn away from him. Again, I’m trying not to smile. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
When the current audio segment draws to a close, Ronan turns down the volume. There’s a heavy stretch of silence. Then we both speak at the same time.
“Look—I’m really sorry about last ni—”
“I just want to apologize for—”
He pauses, the smile on his lips almost boyish. “You go ahead.”
Ronan clears his throat. “I was just saying sorry. Last night, I crossed a lot of lines. With the way I acted after we lost the hockey game, to the things I said to you on the drive back—” His eyes flit to my mouth “—to the kiss.”
Instinctively, my fingertips jump to my tingling lips. “Right. I…I got carried away, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you how to react after your team lost the game.”
He shrugs. “It’s part of your job.”
“Sure, it is part of my job,” I pull in a breath. “But that doesn't mean I needed to be so blunt about it. I…I was rude.”
His brows knit tight. “Okay. But you were right, though. I was acting like a total asshole. I was pissed. We lost that game because I was stuck in the penalty box when I should have been on the ice, scoring goals. And instead of just accepting that I’d fucked up, I deflected my bad vibes onto you. That was really fucking immature of me. And I’m sorry.”
Nodding, I run my tongue over my lips. “Thank you for saying that,” I mutter quietly. “A…and you were right, too.”
“About what?” He glances my way. “I do bottle up my emotions. I do try to act all tough and unbothered whenever I get my feelings hurt. When you pointed it out, I got defensive. I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that. It was unprofessional. But more than that, it was mean. I’m sorry.”
His lips curl at the corners. “I accept your apology.”
“And I accept yours.”
Even after saying all that, there’s still an elephant sitting in the back seat of this car. An elephant I’d rather not address. But I have to.
“And about that kiss…” I dare to say.
Ronan’s head shoots my way. His eyes sweep me up and down. Sort of like he’s checking me out. “Do you expect me to apologize for that, too?”
“I…I, uh…we…”
He continues watching me in a heated way that makes my mouth tingle and my breasts ache. Lust stirs deep inside my belly.
I squirm in my seat, feeling self-conscious under his gaze.
Self-conscious? Really? What the hell? Since when do I get self-conscious under a man’s gaze? Now that I think about it, Ronan Brighton is the only man who has ever rattled my confidence this way.
“Nicky, I can’t apologize for that kiss.” His jaw ticks as he turns his attention back to the road.
“Oh, um…Oh.” The apex of my thighs squeezes on impulse.
But I straighten my shoulders. Clear my throat. Try to stop melting like butter on his heated leather seats.
“That kiss was unprofessional. We can’t do it again.”
He’s perfectly silent.
“Ronan,” I insist forcefully. “My job is to help you keep your head in the game. To keep you away from distractions. Not to become one.”
He emits a growly chuckle. “So bossy. Who’s the captain here? Am I the captain or are you the captain?”
I glare at him.
“Okay, well that answers it. You’re the captain. Sheesh!”
“Stop joking around, Ronan. This is serious.”
He stubbornly holds onto his silence for a moment longer. “Fine,” he says eventually. “It won’t happen again.”
Tension sits heavy in the space between us. The conversation dies down completely. I try not to let that awkward vibe return.
When we pull up at a cute diner in the center of town a few minutes later, Ronan parks at the curb. Before I can gather my purse and get out of the car, he’s at my door, holding it open for me.
“Thank you,” I say.
He gives me a brief nod, his eyes never leaving mine as I step out onto the sidewalk.
Jeez-sus.
Do I have a fever? I probably have a fever. Because that’s the only way to explain why I’m burning up now when I was freezing just a few minutes ago.
Wordlessly, Ronan stands at the restaurant’s door, politely holding it open and ushering me inside.
“The Pancake Village…” I muse, intrigued by the yummy smells that greet us at the door.
“Best breakfast place in town,” he tells me, eyeballing the crowded room for an empty table.
My gaze roams around, taking in the decor while my fingers and limbs slowly stop tingling.
“Do you want to sit by the window back there?” he asks. “It’s nice and quiet and—oh, shit!”
“What? What’s wrong?” My head snaps around looking for danger when Ronan takes a quick step backward and his face dips into his collar. Clearly, he’s trying to hide from someone. Oh my god—what did we just walk into?
“Look. There’s Ronan!” I hear a male voice shout from across the room.
“Captain! Hey! Over here!” Another man says.
All of a sudden, Ronan is deaf, apparently. Because although everybody in the restaurant is looking at us, he acts like he doesn’t hear someone calling his name.
I see three men sitting at a booth. They look familiar actually. Wait—they’re Saints, aren’t they? I think they are.
“Some of your teammates are over there.” I point across the room.
“Where?” Ronan asks, looking anywhere but the direction I’m pointing.
“Ronan! Ronan, I can see you. You’re six foot three. You can’t hide behind the waitress. Get over here.”
One of the other guys laughs. “We’ve got seats over here! Come join us!”
I feel my lips curling. “Let’s go say hi,” I tell Ronan.
He just groans. “Do we have to?”
Now, I laugh. “Yes, we have to. Stop being a baby.”
I’m really curious to talk to these guys, actually. For some reason, I suspect that they might have the inside tea on their captain, information that might come in handy for me in doing my job.
But Ronan still hasn’t budged. I loop my arm through his and give him a little tug.
His head whips toward me, surprise in his expression. His eyes drop to where our arms are linked, before rebounding to my face.
Oh crap. Boundaries, Nicky. Boundaries.
I drop his arm.
Quickly stepping away from him, I lead the way to the table. Ronan trudges along behind me, grumbling something that sounds a lot like, “But I don’t want to share.”
“Share what?” I ask with a cursory glance over my shoulder.
He gives me an embarrassed smile. “Nothing. Never mind.”
When we reach the table, the guys ignore Ronan completely, introducing themselves to me one at a time.
Easton Raines—number 33 is one of the teams defensemen.
Parker Paige—the rookie right winger who wears number 26.
Tipton Bridges—the team’s first-line goaltender is number 10.
I catalogue all that info in the filing cabinet of my brain.
The guys invite Ronan and me to join their table. Tipton stands to pull out a chair for me. “Have a seat, gorgeous.”
I nearly roll my eyes. A shameless flirt, isn’t he? But I catch the slicing look Ronan sends to Easton. The team captain bumps his teammate out of the way, possessively claiming the seat beside me.
Ooh! Jealous Ronan . That’s a version I don’t think I’ve met as yet. This could be interesting.
I deliberately ignore Ronan’s grumpy face as I let Tipton shake my hand. “I’m Nicky. Also known as the new assistant.”
“So very nice to meet you,” Tipton says gallantly, lifting my knuckles to his lips.
Before I can curl my fingers into a fist and punch him in the throat—because I don’t know where this dude’s mouth has been—Ronan intervenes, karate-chopping his teammate’s hand away. “Watch it,” the captain growls. All territorial and shit.
Hot.
As we sit down, Ronan slips his hand around the back of my chair. Like we’re on a date or something. I look his way, frowning at him. I can’t for the life of me figure out why he’d do that.
He gets the message loud and clear, and he quickly drops his arm.
“Sorry. Force of habit,” Ronan says with a sheepish smile.
“Okay, buddy,” I say under my breath.
Secretly, I like it. But I’m not about to admit that to him.
A waitress comes and takes our orders. Ronan gets some over-the-top whipped cream and sprinkles pancake extravaganza. I go for crêpes with chocolate drizzle and fruit on the side.
“I heard rumors that Ronan got a babysitter,” Parker says, leaning back in his seat and looking amused, “I didn’t believe they were true.”
Easton nods, shoving a massive slice of his pancake stack into his face. “Yeah, when I asked him about it the other day, he flat-out denied it.” He watches Ronan accusingly.
“Because she’s not my babysitter. She’s my assistant ,” Ronan corrects his teammates. A boyish hint of embarrassment colors his cheeks.
Oh, my god. How can a towering giant be so cute-e-e-e-e?!!
“Call it what you want.” Tipton shrugs. “What I want to know is, why I didn’t get a hot assistant, too?”
“Probably because the organization is trying to avoid the scandal of you getting caught in a compromising position with one of the employees.” Easton suggests. “Workplace harassment suits are not a vibe.”
Parker titters and Tipton throws a fistful of sugar packets at his face.
Easton explains that he recently bought a house in Starlight Falls. Apparently, he had a little ‘gathering’ last night, which is why Tipton and Parker are in town. It was nothing too wild, according to them. But the guys do all get sheepish looks on their faces when Ronan questions why he wasn’t invited.
When someone opens the front door, a gust of cold air flies inside. I pull my coat tighter around me, simultaneously shivering and fighting off a yawn.
Easton smiles at me, eager to change the topic. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here, Nicky.”
I laugh a little. “I’d rather be sitting in an armchair with a view of the mountains, bundled up in a blanket with a book in my lap. But someone— ” I turn my glare on Ronan. “Dragged me outside, kicking and screaming, into the cold death of the morning. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not my bubbly self today.” Our waitress brings coffee to the table. I thank her and take an eager sip of much-needed caffeine.
With a frown, Tipton reaches over and punches Ronan in the shoulder for being an asshole. I fight back a grin as Ronan rubs at his sore arm. “Well, excuse me for trying to feed you.” He faux-glares at me as he defends himself.
“There’s more than enough food at the house,” I challenge him. “I could survive the zombie apocalypse in that stocked-up pantry.”
His face twinkles as he pulls off his toque, ruffles his gloriously messy hair and pulls the hat back on again. “Some fresh air is good for you. I spent over an hour on the rink this morning. Now I feel better than ever.”
“He forced me to watch him the entire time,” I tell his friends.
“Ugh! What a sicko!” Easton makes a face.
“Yeah, he probably got some weird pleasure out of it.” Tipton shakes his head.
Ronan’s eyes shoot to his teammates for support. “It’s her job to keep an eye on me. What if the ice had cracked and I had gone through it? If I die, surely she gets fired?”
Easton rolls his eyes. “It’s not a frozen pond, dumbass. You can’t fall through your million dollar custom ice rink, remember?” Then he leans over, whispering loudly to me. “You should know…Ronan isn’t that smart.”
I laugh, throwing an elbow into his ribs. “Don’t say that. It’s not nice.” I sneak a look at Ronan, whose eyes narrow at our antics.
The hockey captain grabs the leg of my chair, pulling me an inch closer to him. “Well, at least I’m pretty,” he torments Easton while pouting like a baby.
But, wow, he sure is hot…
The moment the thought pops into my head, I immediately will it away.
Girl power! Boss babe!
No more swooning over gorgeous hockey gods who fly around the ice and listen to motivational audio tapes from the twentieth century.
Nope.
None of that.
You gotta stay strong, girl.
Tipton rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re pretty and you’re tall and you have a lot of money.”
“And a big dic—”
Ronan’s phone rings, cutting him off.
He eagerly answers the call, a big smile on his face. “Hi, Mom!” Silence. “ Girrrrl . Yes, I did watch the latest episode of A Chance with Vance . Did you see the way Inez had that man eating out of the palm of her hand?” Silence. “Uh-huh!” More silence. “Uh-huh! Get Grandma on the line. We need to talk about this.” Ronan rises from the table, holding up a finger. “I’ll be right back,” he mouths to me. Then he turns to his boys. “If you say anything dumb to Nicky while I’m gone, I will chop off your weiners and have them served with spicy mayo to the next person who orders sausages.”
Parker visibly recoils.
Tipton isn’t alarmed, though. He chuckles to himself as Ronan hustles off. “Look at that mama’s boy.”
After all the teasing and tittering simmers down, Parker brings his eyes to me. “We give him shit but he’s a good guy.”
“He really is,” Easton says. “Can I just say—I think that everyone’s being too harsh on him these days.” He sips his coffee.
“That’s true,” Tipton says, growing serious. “We all messed up that night when we got arrested. But Ronan was the one to get all of the blame.”
“ We all messed up?” Easton questions. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who got us into that mess, fooling around with that waitress.” He whacks Tipton upside the head.
Parker nods. “I warned you about her. That woman was a screaming red flag.”
Tipton waves off his teammate’s concerns. “The red flags are always the most fun.” He winks at me. I scowl in response.
“Yeah. Fun, fun.” Parker grouses from behind his coffee cup. “You know what wasn’t fun. Explaining to my Nanna how I almost ended up with a criminal record in my rookie year.”
Easton sits back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table. “You’re a fucking shit disturber, Tipton. Next time you get in trouble, I’m not jumping in to save you.”
“Same here,” Parker says. “In fact, the only reason I got involved this time is because Ronan was the first to jump in to defend your ass. If our captain hadn’t jumped in, you would have been on your own, fuckface.”
When he says that, I interject. “Ronan was the first to jump in?” I ask, surprised.
Easton nods. “Yeah, we would have let Tipton get his ass beat. He’s earned it, after all. But when the waitress’s boyfriend and his friends rushed into the parking lot and attacked, Ronan took the lead.”
My eyes shift to Ronan where he’s hovering by the door, animatedly discussing what I’m guessing is his favorite TV show with his mom and grandma. It feels like I’m seeing him in a whole different light.
The guys keep on talking but I sit there, ruminating over what I just learned. Ronan didn’t initiate a brawl out of nowhere, like the press insinuated in those blog posts. He actually stepped in to help a teammate who was under attack. That’s…noble.
“You seem lost in thought, Nicky,” Parker says.
“I’m just processing what you guys said about Ronan,” I admit. “All along, I thought he was just a hothead who likes to swing punches. But…” Was I wrong?
“Yes. He likes to swing punches. Just like the rest of us,” Easton says. “But I think that people forget to look at his motives, what drives him to do the dumb shit he does. His willingness to stand up for what’s right gets overlooked all the time. That’s not really fair.”
By the time Ronan gets back to the table, the guys are done with their meal. Ronan offers to get their tab. They all thank him, broadcasting happy grins. Then they say their goodbyes and they’re off.
That leaves Ronan and me alone at the table. We finish our pancakes together, laughing and trading food.
When there’s a lull in the conversation, his twinkling eyes linger on me. “I’m about to ask you a personal question.”
“Don’t,” I warn him.
He ignores me. Surprise, surprise. “Tell me why you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“I’m not doing men at the moment,” I say with my nose pointed in the air.
Ronan’s eyes widen, his hands shooting out in front of him. “Whoa there, Captain. No need to get all overambitious, doing men . Plural. Maybe you just do one man to start? And see how it goes from there? Then add another one or two or three to your roster, if need be?”
I bark out a laugh, slapping his forearm and trying to correct myself. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! What I mean is… I’m not doing relationships. I’m single. Celibate. Whatever you want to call it.” I reach over and stab at his food with my fork. “Now, stop being nosy. Mind your bacon before it gets stolen.”
And I don’t know why things feel different now—but as we finish our pancakes together, the jokes and the laughter and the effortless conversation with Captain Brighton come much easier than before.