Chapter 40
The Winning Score
Months later, on a cool fall day in a sunny Denver park, the season-ending team picnic was wrapping up.
The boys were clustered together, some still lamenting their Stanley Cup loss in a seven-game run against Tampa.
But Quinn had gotten over it—it helped to have distractions, like a smoking-hot, sassy girlfriend you were nuts about who’d agreed to move in with you—and house-hunting for that just-right place with her.
Wyatt, apparently, had no such distractions. “I still say that if that motherfucker hadn’t run Hadley and boarded him, Hads would’ve been on the ice and gotten us the winning score instead of sitting in the training room waiting for repairs,” he groused.
Sarah was cleaning up picnic tables with Lily and some of the other WAGs, and Quinn caught her eye and crooked his finger. She ambled over and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself under his arm, where she fit so perfectly.
Quinn smiled down at her. “I did get the winning score.”
His teammates obliged him with exaggerated eye-rolls, groans, and a few choice snide comments. Nelson went into a coughing fit brought on by fake hurling.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re cute, so I’ll kiss you anyway.” Sarah raised on tiptoe and pecked Quinn’s lips.
“Jeez, not in front of the kids, please!” Nelson protested. “Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
Ignoring him and the rest of his teammates, Quinn tapped Sarah’s nose. “Ready to go meet Paige and look at houses?”
“Let’s go!” She bounced in place. Sarah loved looking at houses, could spend hours studying them, but today, he’d whittled down the choices to three he’d already checked out. He was especially excited for Sarah to see the last one.
“Buying a new house, Hads?” one of the guys asked.
“Yep. Time to downsize to something less ostentatious,” he quipped.
After touring the first two places, he and Sarah followed Paige to house number three, which was a stone-and-timber affair that sat on a golf course with spectacular mountain views.
Paige unlocked the front door and ushered them in. “Quinn, why don’t you show Sarah around? I’ll be in my car making calls if you need me.” She sent him a wink.
They stepped into an open entryway, and Sarah gasped.
Yeah, she likes it. In the center of the entry, an enormously thick chain was suspended from the vaulted second-floor ceiling to the walkout basement level.
It twisted its way through railed openings in the stone floor on each level, and water skittered over its links, giving it an old-world, rusted look.
Sarah craned her head upward. “This water feature is amazing!”
His chest swelled with pride as she walked around it. He could practically see the calculations zipping through her brain as she took it in and disassembled its secrets.
“There’s lots more to see.” He took her hand and led her toward a series of NanaWalls—glass walls that opened completely, letting exterior living spaces blend with the interior.
“Oh my God! I love these movable walls.” Again she paused, transfixed as her eyes scanned the wall systems, and he had to pull her away.
“So the house has six bedrooms, two family rooms, a wine cave, a billiards room, a gym, and this.” He led her into a vaulted, two-storied master bedroom with a marble bathroom that was straight out of a luxury spa.
Her head on a swivel, eyes wide as pucks, she didn’t see the room until he opened the door. She peered inside. “Is this another bedroom attached to the bathroom?”
“Nope. Guess again.”
She shook her head.
“It’s a big-ass closet. Now imagine every surface covered in mirrors, white fur rugs on the floor, and a leather lounge for two.” He grinned and stood back to enjoy the transformation in her expression. She didn’t disappoint.
Her hand flew to her mouth, but not in time to stifle a raucous laugh. “Oh. My. God! This would be perfect! Can you say mirror room?”
“Yes, I can, and I can also say ‘scorching-hot sex.’ It’d be a great room to shelter-in-place. Or shelter-in-lace.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“And here I thought you liked this house because you can step right onto the golf course and play through,” she chuckled. “Now I know the real attraction.”
He let her linger and ogle the space a while longer before he showed her the rest of the house. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning, and every expression, every word, every reaction from her were his presents to open—and he couldn’t wait.
They finally came to a stop in the airy great room and kitchen. He spread his arms wide. “So picture family dinners with you, me, Archer, Mom, Dad, Gage, Lily, and Daisy. Plenty of room for everyone. What do you think?”
Sarah folded her hands on the granite island counter and looked around with an expression he could only describe as awe. “I love it,” she whispered reverently.
“More than the others we’ve looked at?”
She positively beamed. “Absolutely.”
Quinn executed an inner fist pump. Scored again! Yes!
From his cargo shorts pocket, he extracted three objects. His heart rate kicked up a few notches, and he started to juggle. Sarah glanced at him and smirked. “Didn’t get in enough juggling at the picnic?”
He kept his eyes fixed on the items looping through the air. “Nope.”
She poked her head in cabinets and took another tour around the great room before stopping in front of him. Folding her arms across her chest, she tracked the circling objects. “Are you nervous today or just fidgety, Sparks?” she teased.
“Honestly? A little of both,” he murmured.
He could feel her heat as she drew closer. “Why?” Her eyes continued following the motion. Without waiting for his answer, she pointed at one of the items spinning in midair. “What’s that?”
Quinn snatched it, letting the others thud to the floor. “You mean this?” He opened his palm and presented her a small box.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted. “What is it?”
“Open it and find out.”
She stretched her fingers toward it, then snatched them back as if they were about to be sacrificed to a set of pointy fangs.
“Open it,” he urged. Excitement and nervousness twined inside him.
Curiosity lit her eyes as she plucked it out of his open palm. Oh so carefully, she opened the lid. He pulled in a breath that he nursed in his chest. She let out a gasp, and those wide, glittering hazel eyes drilled into him. “Is this … are you …?”
“Yes, that’s an engagement ring, and yes, I’m proposing.” No way did he want this girl to get away from him.
Stunned, she stared at the ring, then at him, and back again.
He pointed at the open box. “And that goes”—he twirled his finger in the air—“with the house.” Then he opened his arms wide. “And me. A total package. If you don’t like the house or the ring, we’ll trade them for something else. But I have a no-trade clause.”
Her diamond-bright eyes shimmered with tears. “It’s so beautiful.” Her fingertips played over the round brilliant stone sparkling in a platinum band set with smaller diamonds, but she didn’t pick it up.
Plucking the ring from its velvet nest, he took her left hand in his and held it to the tip of her ring finger. Then he swallowed. “Please say yes.”
In those glittering eyes danced mischief. “What’s the question?”
Killing me here, Sunshine. He was sweating bullets and praying he didn’t give himself away with some embarrassing blunder. This was more nerve-racking than going into overtime in game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals with a zero-zero tie—which he’d done only recently, so he knew.
He cleared his throat to keep his voice from sliding up an octave or three. “Sarah Sunshine Nelson, I love you.” His hand shook as he slid the ring on.
It looked huge on her small finger, and a giggle escaped her. “Nothing halfway.”
So maybe I overdid it. “Nothing halfway, ever, babe,” he agreed. He tipped her chin up, and they locked gazes. He could barely catch his breath or coat his desert-dry throat for drowning in her hazel depths. “Please marry me? That’s the question.”
Her head bobbed vigorously, but nothing came out of her mouth. Tears coursed over her cheeks. Finally, in a voice so choked with emotion he barely heard her, she said, “I wouldn’t trade you. Ever.”
He caught her as she leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. “I love you,” she breathed against his neck. God, it felt so right having her pasted against him.
Laughing, he spun them. “Does this mean yes?”
“Yes, it means yes! Do you need me to spell it out on T-shirts?”
“Oh Jesus. I’m scared to ask, but what would the T-shirts say?”
“Yours would say, ‘I Asked,’ and mine would say, ‘I Said Yes.’” She crinkled her nose. “Too cheesy?”
“Cute, but I think yours should say, ‘I’m His So Back Off,’ and mine should say, ‘She’s Mine. Best Score of my Life.’”
THE END
TAKE ONE GRUMPY HOCKEY PLAYER, add one frazzled landscaper, and mix together not-so-gently in one car crash. Here’s an excerpt from Defending the Reaper, Book 5:
Dave took the opportunity to steal another glance at the other driver. The paramedics were gone, and she stared at her phone as though it were a foreign object that had somehow landed in her hand.
Slowed by crushing guilt, he took tentative steps toward her. “So you’re okay?”
She raised her head. Slate-blue eyes narrowed and pierced his. “No thanks to you.”
He heaved out a breath. “I am so, so sorry. If I—”
Her hand flipped up in a stop-right-there-buster motion. “Mr. Grimson, I know you’re sorry. It doesn’t help right now.”
“You know who I am?” A modicum of pride ballooned in his chest. He didn’t normally play on his celebrity, preferring to fly under the radar, so the fact she recognized him—
“Yes. I copied it from the paperwork. You’re Darryl—or is it Daniel?— Grimson.”
The balloon deflated. “David. Dave.” Why hadn’t he thought to discover her name? “And your name is?” Fuck. Could he sound any stupider? He acted like he was meeting a dance partner at a hoedown. Next he’d be asking if she wanted a cup of punch.
When she didn’t respond, he said, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah,” she bit. “You can replace the gardenia plants and the thousands of lights you destroyed, take them to my client’s, and get them arranged in the next, oh,” she tilted her forearm and glanced at a rugged watch that was too big for her slender wrist, “two hours, so I don’t lose this project.
” Before he could ask what she did for a living, an old-fashioned ringtone chimed.
Her voice softened when she answered. “Hey, Finn.”
Dave turned away while she gave Finn her location. He pulled up his Uber app with a sigh and ordered a ride.
Behind him, the other driver was ending her call. “See you in ten.”
“You’ve got a ride to … wherever it is you need to go?”
“I’m covered,” she retorted.
“Okay. Good.” He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his track pants. “Um, so pick out whatever replacement vehicle you want, and I’ll pay for it.”
She snorted. “I doubt the vehicle I need will be covered by what insurance pays.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. This is on me. I’ll cover whatever insurance doesn’t. In fact, keep the insurance money, and I’ll pay for the whole thing.”
Her arms seemed to cross her chest on their own, and her eyebrows pinched together. “Are you for real?”
“’Fraid so.”
Tilting her head, she scanned him and seemed to see him for the first time. “So what are you? A trust fund Wookiee?”
“A … what?” He didn’t school the bewilderment that surely commandeered his features.
“A Wookiee. You know, Star Wars. Big, hairy animal that growls and scares the crap out of people.”
Unable to hold back, he burst out with a humorless laugh.
“Is that the impression I give off?” Okay, so maybe the beard needed a trim—and the hair.
And oh, that’s right: he hadn’t put his front teeth in before he’d stormed out of the arena.
Not that he usually did anyway. Why bother?
He didn’t go to the trouble unless he was making an appearance at a black-tie fundraiser.
Or going out with a woman he wanted to impress.
Which he hadn’t done since before Nicky.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know my impression of you,” she snarked.
You’re probably right.