Chapter 11
DANIEL
“Daniel ‘The Maverick of Hockey’ Sutton. Shit damn, I can’t believe I’m meeting you.” Shaking my hand like he’s trying to test my strength, which happens often, the plumber jerks it up and down.
“It’s good to meet you, too . . .” I glance at the embroidery on his stained work shirt. “Bryan.”
“With a y. When you sign that autograph, make sure to spell Brian with a y.”
I look around, but there’s nothing for me to sign. “You got a pad or something to write on?”
“Yeah. Hold on.” While Bryan digs through his van, I look at Summer standing at the back of the van, looking around awkwardly.
This is exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want her to be awkward—well, more awkward than she is—because of my fame.
This lifestyle isn’t for the faint of heart.
I have no choice. She does. And turning her off is the last thing I want to do.
“Here you go.” He hands me a Buc-ee’s receipt and a marker that’s seen better days and is missing the cap.
Moving to the hood of the vehicle, he sets it down to sign, and adds, “Don’t forget the y and sign it from Maverick. Then it’s like we’re buddies. How about writing how I saved you—”
I glare at him. “Do you want to sign it?”
“No, go ahead, Mav.”
Bryan, thanks for saving the day.
Maverick Sutton
I hand it back to him and keep walking, more interested in checking on Summer than fulfilling the next demand he comes up with. My good deed for the day is done, so it’s time to move on. “Let’s go look at the pipes.”
“Right behind you, bud.” While he tucks his autograph into the van, I find Summer waiting in an Adirondack chair. Her body is at ease as she leans back, her eyes on me since she came into view.
When I walk to her, I see how she looks me over and bites that bottom lip of hers.
The attraction between us remains as clear as it was thirty minutes earlier, leaving me to breathe easier.
Summer’s different from the women I meet, and I don’t want to lose this opportunity to learn more about her because I’m famous.
Her not knowing who I am was only a perk.
A perk that snowballed into a situation.
We need to talk when we have more privacy. I want to check the temperature of how she feels with the information that was dumped on her seemingly out of nowhere. I also want to know what really makes her tick when it comes to this property. It appears to be her sole focus. A goal of sorts.
She manages this place like it’s her own business, but made it clear it’s not.
Her care and attention are put into every detail, and she gets flustered if things aren’t under her complete control.
The owner said jump, and she plunged off the cliff to get here.
Other than a paycheck, what’s in it for her?
Her gaze deviates beside me, and she says, “It’s open. The bathroom is in the hall on the right.”
When she looks back at me, she holds her phone up with a photo of me taken during a game.
Eighty-eight, my jersey number, is on display as I slam into that punk kid who thinks he owns the ice out of Boston.
That photo made all the sports channel rounds three years ago.
I’d recognize it anywhere. “I looked you up.”
I come to stand before her and offer a hand. “And?”
“You’re famous famous.” When she reaches up, she folds her fingers with mine.
“How do you feel about that?” I pull her to her feet.
She stands toe-to-toe with me and raises her chin in the air.
She must if she wants to see my face, but I catch a note of tenacity in the gesture.
“I think back to all the things you said that made it so obvious, and I still missed all the signs right in front of my face.” Our hands are still together when she lowers them to the side, not making any effort to escape or wiggle out of this conversation.
“You talked about being on the road. I thought you were in finance or something, and you traveled for your job.” She waffles her head.
“You do, but because you play hockey. Even Roman mentioned he would only go to games when you were in town. And here I thought he meant because you would take him to the game, not for him to watch you play.” Turning away from me, she cups her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut. “This is so embarrassing.”
“I understand this is a lot of information to take in at once and not something you expected—”
“You fought your way back to Brooklyn after being in Milwaukee.” Her blue eyes pierce mine.
“Literally, you fought on the ice to get traded to the Breakaways. It wasn’t just a turn of phrase.
And now I know why. Roman.” Dropping her head back, she pleads to the heavens.
“Save me from myself. It’s just so humiliating. ”
Bending down so we’re at eye level, I look at her wrapped up in thoughts that should never be a part of her psyche.
She’s too good for that. She’s too good for me, if I were being honest. That innocence she carries like a backpack doesn’t just peek through like sunshine.
It shines like a diamond ring. And it’s just so damn appealing.
“Look at me, Summer.”
“I’m looking right at you, Daniel.” Her voice is so sweet that it’s tempting to kiss her.
“You don’t need saving. You don’t need to be embarrassed.
You just need to be you. That’s what I want.
That’s what has me standing here right now, hoping the damn pipe gets fixed so we can stay this summer.
” I stand back up and run the tip of my rough finger along the soft skin of her cheek.
“I know you’ll offer your house, but you don’t need two extra mouths to feed or us crowding your space. ”
“I’m sure you can buy a few meals, Money Bucks.”
Grinning, I chuckle. “I can, but that’s not how I want us to get to know each other.
I want us to spend time together because we want to, not be forced to because you’re too nice.
And want to please me.” I tack it on at the end, playing into her sweet nature.
Low? Sure. But I’m so fucking attracted to this woman that it will be hard not to blow through rule three before the sun sets. If I had my way . . .
Since I won’t because we shouldn’t, let’s hope we have the house back soon so she can spend some quality time over here.
“I’ve looked at the shower and checked the valve on the side of the house,” Bryan says, stepping out of the house and disappointingly making me step away from Summer before he runs to the tabloids.
There’s something about the guy that I don’t trust. Maybe it’s because he’s too buddy-buddy, like he’s got something to hold over me.
All I can do is trust that he’ll keep his mouth shut like he promised.
Summer starts for the house. “What are you thinking? A new pipe for the shower will need to be installed, but I didn’t want to bust up the tile to see how extensive the damage is.”
“It’s extensive,” he says, his eyes going from her and landing on me. “You’re going to need a full install of new pipes starting at the entry point from the shower to where it meets the main line.”
Summer crosses her arms over her chest. “That doesn’t sound like a quick fix.”
“It won’t be.” His eyes deviate from her to me again as he continues, “I’d have to get a small crew out here to demo. After that, one of my guys and I can replace the pipes to the main line.”
His disrespect for her pisses me off. I start toward them, and say, “Ms. Season oversees the property. I’m only a guest.”
“That’s too bad this happened during your visit. You might be able to seek legal restitution if . . .” He points at her. “They don’t give you a fair shake for the refund.”
“Listen here, pal!” I catch Summer by the wrists just as her arms fly into the air. She shoots me a glare.
Shaking his head like an idiot who walked into the lion’s den, he adds, “Sheesh. Women are so temperamental.”
Fucker.
Temperamental. Emotional. My dad never gave my mom a break.
He pushed her buttons and yelled at her for reacting.
It was always my fault or hers, but never his.
And just like the fight that got me kicked out of the house at fifteen, I’m not putting up with shit humans treating women like they’re beneath them. “Watch your mouth, Bryan.”
Shock wiggles his jowls. “What are you talking about, Mav?”
“I’m talking about treating her with the respect she deserves. She’s doing her job, and you’re trippin’ over your balls trying to impress me for some fucking reason.”
“Yeah.” Summer crosses her arms over her chest and says, “I’ve seen more emotion from you fanboying over this guy than I’ve seen from a tween at a Taylor Swift concert.
So watch how you talk to me.” There’s the spitfire I knew she had in her.
Tugging the hem of her shirt down, she raises her chin in defiance.
“We won’t be needing your services. Good day, Bryan.
” And there’s her sweet side showing out to clean up the mess.
“Hey,” he barks. “Slow down there. The lady on the phone told me I had the job if I drove out here. That’s an hour and a half each way. I hope you didn’t waste my time because you’re still going to pay for it.”
How’s this jerk not getting the picture?
This doesn’t need to escalate. Before this gets out of hand, I say, “Walk with me.” As I turn to walk away, he rushes to my side.
“This seems like a complicated job, bigger than tightening a few split rings. You drove a long way, and it’s probably not a trip you want to make if the gas is going to eat your profits. ”
“Hell no, I don’t.” He looks back at Summer over his shoulder. “And she’s already reneging on the deal. I’m not putting up with that shit.”
We stop outside the door to his van. “It’s nothing but trouble.”
“Yeah, it’s bullshit. You’re right. I don’t want this job. Too much trouble.” His expression lifts. “But I got to meet you.”
“And I got to meet you, Bryan, with a Y.” Asshole.