Chapter 2
Alexei
Oh, shit is right.
My stomach drops as the curvy cutie’s forest green eyes flare wide. The errant puck I’d smacked—intending to clap it against the glass and ring around the rink—coasted too high. It catches an edge and flies out of play, heading straight for her.
I shout out a warning, but it’s too late. The puck strikes her shoulder, and a howl of pain punctuates the air as she tumbles backward, curses flying from her plum-colored lips. Her pies flip into the air like tin-wrapped pancakes and land with a sickening, wet smack.
Unfortunately, at least one of them lands on her, and I think I might be a dead man.
This is not how I meant to get her attention.
When she bolts upright, there’s murder in her forest green eyes and pumpkin pie…
Well… everywhere.
Fuck.
I wave, a cringey sort of smile on my face, and she glares back, chest heaving and cheeks pink with fury. It shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…
“Nice one, Alyosha. Guess you really wanted her to look at you, huh?” My brother Leo tries to hide his laughter in his glove, but it’s obvious he’s enjoying my fuck up. “Told you your cross-ice clearance was shit.”
“I- I didn’t mean to do that.” My mind races as I watch her pick up what’s left of her pie box. She checks to see if any survived the fall, and I feel a bit sick. I’ve ruined her pies. She’ll hate me. Or think I’m incompetent.
I’m not sure which is worse.
Groaning, I spin on my heel and push off on my skates. “I’ll fix it.”
“Good luck, brother. Think you’ll need it.”
I make a beeline for the gate, dropping my stick, gloves, and helmet as I go.
All I meant to do was make the lady with all the pies look my way again. I can’t explain why exactly. I just know the second I saw her face peeking over that enormous box, I felt as if someone had struck me stupid.
So when our eyes caught, and some connection sizzled between us, I did the only thing I could think of. I tried to showoff, but that backfired big time.
Maybe not.
If I can salvage the situation and leverage it into prime time getting to know the pretty pie princess, I might still be able to fix this. After all, crises, I can handle. But if there are tears, I won’t stand a chance.
By the time I reach her, Sierra is helping her to her feet, and I see the full extent of the damage I’ve caused.
It’s pumpkin pie carnage. Spilled fillings, broken crusts, and overturned foil tins scattered all around her. Not counting the one that actually landed on her, spreading the soft, orange custard across her shoulder and into her hair.
Embarrassed, I rub the back of my neck. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about all this.”
“What the actual fuck, man?” she snaps, voice low and vibrating with fury. She reaches for her shoulder—the one I accidentally hit—and finds it covered in filling.
Beside her, Sierra rubs her back and shoots me a pitying look before she excuses herself to find napkins and someone to clean up the mess.
“It was an accident.” I put my hand in the air, owning up. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Just dandy.” She rolls her shoulder, testing its movement. “My ass is probably more bruised than my shoulder.”
I squash the urge to offer to check. Up close, she’s fucking stunning. All plush curves and flawless features. Dark hair I want to loosen from her messy bun, warm light brown skin glowing with temper, and a full, pouty mouth that’s twisted with displeasure.
“I wasn’t trying to hit you. I was just… trying to impress you. It obviously went wrong. I’m sorry.”
“Impress—” she breaks off on a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Well, congratulations. Impression made. Sorry isn’t really good enough.
You’ve just ruined a ton of product. Which is just fucking great, because even though I can replace them, I’m going to have to replace the replacements—which means… I’m going to be up all night.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a frustrated growl.
“Let me help,” I say. “Tell me what I can do.”
Her head snaps up, and she crosses her arms under her breasts. I try not to look at the way her sweater outlines her shape as she lifts her chin in my direction.
“Just who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Alexei Aslanov. Most people here call me Alex.” I stick my hand out. “I didn’t mean to ruin your pies. And you are?”
“I’m pissed,” she snaps, ignoring my hand in favor of flicking filling off her shoulder. “You have no idea what you’ve cost me tonight.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” I say, guilt twisting up my stomach and desperation clawing at my throat. I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t let her walk away. Not this easy, anyway. “I’ll pay you for all the ruined pies, double it for the inconvenience, and take you on a world-class date.”
She stares at me for a second, green eyes blinking, then she throws her head back and laughs.
The sound is full and husky, sexy as hell. My blood stirs, and I flash her a smile as my cock tightens in my hockey pants. I try not to imagine what her voice might sound like screaming my name, but the thought comes anyway.
“You’ve got to be joking me.” She drops down and starts stacking the pies that haven’t lost their lids. “Man ruins my pies and wants a damn date.”
“Please. Let me fix this.” I drop down to help, righting overturned tins and sliding them her way.
“You can’t.”
“Can’t what? Take you out? You have a boyfriend or something?”
She dumps one ruined stack into the box. “No, I’m married.”
I rear back in shock, but then she shoots me a glance and sighs heavily.
“I mean to my work. I don’t have time for… whatever it is you’re after.”
Relief surges through me as I lay a hand on my stuttering heart and pass over another tin. “How about we start with your name?”
“It’s Meg,” she answers, reaching for the pie.
Our fingers brush, our gazes meet. For one electric second, the fury in her eyes flickers with something else.
Heat.
Then she turns aside, the tips of her ears pink with embarrassment.
She’s flustered and hiding it. The knowledge makes me grin, which only makes her scowl deepen.
She’s an adorable, grumpy thing, my little chef.
“Listen, meathead. I don’t need your money. I need more pies.”
“Okay, so I’ll help you make them.”
“Nope. Don’t want that either.” She rises to her feet and hauls the box back into her arms. “Besides, don’t you have a game to play anyway, Aslanov? Aren’t you part of the team?”
“No, that’s my brother, Leonid. I’m the brother in business, only playing because this is a charity fundraising event and I can skate. You ever hear of ENFORCE?” I nod to where the rookies lounge in branded gear. “Or maybe you’ve seen our store on Main?”
“I know it. The Esperanza+ leggings are basically my uniform.”
“Oh, Nina would love to know that. I’ll tell her.”
Grinning, I pick up another pie and examine the small, circular sticker on top.
“From the award-nominated Crust & Crumble bakery, huh?” Then, I pop open the lid and swipe my thumb across the filling-splattered inner lid.
She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Tasting it.”
“Bold,” she deadpans. “Considering it’s pretty unhinged behavior to ruin my pies and then try eat them out of their tins.”
“What?” I shrug. “Don’t you have full pie-eating contests in this country? People fall face-first into them, no? I’m using a finger. Civilized, see? Besides, you said they’re ruined, but it’s not like they’re contaminated.”
“It is now that you’ve stuck your finger in it.”
“I just want to know what your award-nominated pie tastes like.” I lift my thumb to my mouth and suck it clean, my eyes locked on hers. She swallows hard, eyes huge as the flavor explodes across my tongue, and I hum my approval.
A shuddering breath skitters out of her as she snatches it out of my grasp. “You… You’re trouble.”
“Only the best kind,” I say, winking. “So, what time should I come help?”
“You’re not helping,” she grumbles. “Keep out of my kitchen, Aslanov.” Then with one final frown, she turns on her heel and stomps out.
Absolutely no chance of that happening.