22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Zacha tossed a Renegade blue duffle over his shoulder and sauntered past me with a grin that said I doth protest too much. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Words floundered on my tongue, my mouth opening and closing and absolutely nothing coming out.
Shep’s laugh rolled through the space between us. “Don’t mind him. He’s gone all soft now that he has a permanent roommate.”
I rolled my lips and popped my shoulders back. “Novy’s his roommate? I thought they were together?”
Shep shifted, closing the distance between us. His hair curled and clung to his neck, still wet from his shower. “They are. They’re all sorts of together.”
He spoke too close. His voice a husk of sound that wrapped around me and taunted me to lean closer when I needed to maintain a safe distance. Be a responsible adult. A professional. “Give me my damn Pop, Landon.”
“Quite the surprise you left in my locker, Wylie.”
The heat crawling up my neck turned into an inferno. “Give me my Pop back, Landon.”
“You left him for me.” His voice dropped low, wrapping around me like a silky challenge. “Must mean you think he brings the team luck too.”
“I do not. I was being nice. Now I’m being direct. Hand him over.”
His grin widened, blue eyes sparking. “Not superstitious at all, leaving your lucky charm in my locker right before the game.”
“Says the man who seems to rely on having my Pop in order to score.” I crossed my arms, refusing to acknowledge how his cologne made my brain misfire. “Way to deny being superstitious.”
His confident grin faltered for a heartbeat. “Pure skill, sunshine. Nothing superstitious about putting pucks in nets.”
“Really? Then you won’t mind if I take him home tonight. Since you’re not superstitious.”
He shifted his weight, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… maybe we shouldn’t mess with what’s working. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the fans now, would you?”
I bit back a smile. “Not superstitious at all.”
He stepped closer, his voice a warm whisper against my ear. “Have dinner with me.”
The word “yes” formed on my tongue before my brain caught up. I swallowed hard. “Only if you give me my Pop back first.”
“Dinner first. Then we’ll negotiate Pop custody arrangements.”
One of the equipment guys swept through, gathering discarded gear. My cheeks burned. We must look ridiculous, the video coach and the golden boy playing keep-away with a tiny blue-haired doll.
But Shep’s smile had lost its teasing edge, softening into something that made my chest tight. “Just dinner, Merri. No strings, no pressure. Just food and conversation.”
The voice of reason in my head screamed about career suicide, but my treacherous heart fluttered anyway. “Fine. But this isn’t a date.”
“Course not. Just two colleagues sharing a meal and a Pop.”
His dimple flashed with a quick wink that should have triggered warning bells. Instead, it sparkled with possibility.
He scooped up an athletic bag and motioned me to the exit. “Let’s go.”
My gaze darted down the hall where Coach Trasier’s office light still glowed.
Equipment guys bustled around, arena staff wandered in and out.
The no-fraternization rule blazed through my mind like a warning siren.
“Where are we going?” My voice dropped to a sharp whisper.
“We can’t be seen in public together. People will get the wrong idea. ”
His lips, too close and too tempting, kicked up into a grin. “Or the right idea.”
I stomped my foot and he burst out laughing. Flustered, I shot around him and into the hall and toward the player exit, acutely aware of him following in my footsteps. Closely. Practically breathing down my neck.
At the exit, I reached for the handle, but his arm appeared over my shoulder to shove the heavy door open. “Follow me to my place. No one to see us there.”
“Hannah?”
“Staying over with Shy. She’s got school in the morning.”
Alone in his place. Alone with a hockey player. The memory of that night in the hotel bar sliced through me—Cale’s betrayal on display for everyone to see, his teammates’ knowing looks, the whispers and pointing. Yet here I stood, ready to risk my career and maybe my heart all over again.
I’d obviously lost my mind because even the spectre of my failed relationship with Cale didn’t stop me from nodding and scurrying over to my car.
I followed him to his downtown loft. The renovated textile mill loomed ahead, all art deco grandeur complete with a uniformed doorman.
Cars lined the street near the entrance, so I followed Shep around to a parking garage tucked behind the industrial building.
I claimed the spot beside his massive truck and sucked in a deep breath.
This was about getting Joonie back. Nothing more. The flutter in my stomach when Shep smiled meant nothing. The way my skin tingled when he stood close meant nothing.
The elevator looked straight out of a classic movie, all polished metal and vintage charm. The small space forced me closer to Shep than my racing pulse could handle, his fresh-from-the-shower scent making my head spin.
“What’re you in the mood for? I’m thinking something from Chartreuse.”
Chartreuse was a fabulous upscale, southern fusion restaurant. The prices were outside my budget, but I’d heard the food was worth every penny. “You buying?”
He better be, after blackmailing me to get me here.
The elevator came to a stop, the metal cage jangling as the door slid open. Vintage but updated enough to be automatic. Shep stepped over the gap, then turned to motion me forward with a tip of his chin. “Come along, Merri-bean.”
If I inhaled another deep breath of his scent before traipsing past him, only me and my maker needed to know about the weakness curling low in my belly. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to survive, after all.
“You a chicken, beef or salad kind of woman?”
“I could go for some chicken.”
“How about I order for us both?”
The keypad beeped under Shep’s fingers, the door swinging open to a loft that looked like it belonged in the pages of Architectural Digest. My brain kicked into overdrive, cataloging details at warp speed—exposed brick climbing toward industrial metal beams, city lights bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows, and banana trees. Everywhere. So many banana trees.
“Quite the bachelor pad,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady as warmth pooled in my belly. The space screamed money and taste, worlds away from the good ol’ boy image Shep projected at the arena.
Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a glittering panorama of downtown Richland. The city sparkled against the night sky, thousands of lights twinkling like earth-bound stars.
Shep’s palm brushed my lower back, steering me toward a sleek kitchen that belonged in a cooking show. “I’m ordering us both chicken. How do you feel about Prosecco?” He yanked open a wine fridge that held more bottles than my entire apartment. “Unless you prefer something else?”
“Prosecco’s fine.” My voice came out breathy and I twisted my fingers around the strap of my bag.
He popped the cork with practiced ease. “How’s Wilson treating you? Any word from Sellers?”
A laugh bubbled up despite my nerves. Smooth operator, using work talk to put me at ease. But his blue eyes held genuine interest as he handed me a crystal flute, tingles shooting through my fingers where they brushed his.
Stories flowed between us—my battles with Wilson’s sriracha addiction, his rookie year rooming with Bruno “The Nose” Mackenzie. His shoulders shook with laughter at my impression of Wilson’s grunt-based communication style.
The wine settled warm in my system, but Shep’s presence sparked something deeper. His charm transformed in this private space, the public polish falling away to reveal glimpses of vulnerability beneath the gleam.
My pulse skittered. A relationship with Shep Landon promised professional suicide. Yet watching his eyes dance as he described Bruno’s infamous locker room pranks, my carefully constructed walls crumbled brick by analytical brick.
The concierge’s chime startled me back to reality. I’d forgotten my mission, seduced by easy conversation and that devastating smile.
Shep returned with our dinner, his gaze lingering in a way that made me grateful for choosing this particular yellow dress. The heat in his eyes matched the warmth spreading through my chest.
He paused, tilted his head as he took me in. “I don’t have a dining room table at the moment—”
“You have a Ping-Pong table instead. Practicing?” My smirk bloomed full force.
His dimple blinked out at me as he sat the restaurant delivery bag on the island. “Something like that.”
He laid out a spread of sweet tea brined chicken, roasted green beans with mushrooms, and potato medallions smothered in a rich gravy. Aromas wafted up, combining into an irresistible symphony. My wine glass sparkled with its third refill. “This smells amazing.”
“Yep. Good food.” He slouched onto his own stool beside mine, close enough his arm brushed mine every time he reached for his wine glass. “What’re you going to do when Sellers comes back? Head back to Arvon?”
I swallowed a bite of chicken. The juicy, flavorful meat melted in my mouth.
Maybe my budget could handle Chartreuse once a month or so, after all.
“That’s one option. Officially, they’re holding the spot for me, at least until next season.
But I really want to work in the NHL. So I’m hoping to toss my resume out there, test the waters, see if I can get any bites for a permanent position. ”
“Gutsy.”
His tone drew my attention from the feast. Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes, his half-smile holding nothing but admiration. No condescension, no doubt about a woman gunning for an NHL coaching spot. Just genuine respect that warmed me more than the wine.
I tested his look. “You think?”
“You’re up for it, though, aren’t you? Up for any challenge, I’m thinking.”