Chapter 10
SABLE
"This is fancy." I settled into my chair, bowl of nachos in one hand, soda in the other. The serving was so big it was going to take me all night to eat them.
Challenge accepted.
"It is," Forrest agreed. "Ah, here's Leif now."
I swiveled around in my seat to see a tall man in black jeans and a Rooks jersey step into the room.
My first impression was of dark hair, a generous mouth, and a piercing through one eyebrow.
"There goes the neighborhood," Leif said with a grin. He nodded toward Forrest, then gave me a wink.
"The neighborhood was gone a long time ago," Forrest said dryly.
"Let me guess, the minute they let me in?" Leif's grin widened.
"Something like that," Forrest chuckled. "Let me introduce you to Sable Kohl. Sable, this is Leif Larsen. Don't believe half of what comes out of his mouth."
"That's a better statistic than yours." Leif leaned over to offer his hand. "I wouldn't believe three quarters of what comes out of Forrest Cross' mouth."
I laughed. "I'm sure you're both more trustworthy than that."
Possibly.
"I see you haven't known him long," Leif teased.
"Are you trying to destroy my reputation?" Forrest asked, looking unconcerned.
"Trying to? No," Leif said. "But you know what they say. Shit happens." He slid his gaze from Forrest to me. "Forrest tells me you're interested in decorating your apartment."
"I'm sure you're busy," I said quickly. I didn't want to take advantage of the friendship between the two men.
"Not too busy I can't fit you in," he said. His blue-green eyes appraised me before he lowered himself into the seat beside me. Judging by the smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, he liked what he saw.
I admit, I wasn't used to men looking at me that way. That is, if it happened on a regular basis, I was oblivious. Willfully so. Once bitten and all that.
"I'd appreciate it," I said sincerely. "I love your work."
"Of course you do," Leif said. "Give me your number and I'll text you when I have time to look over your place."
I unlocked my phone and handed it to him. He typed in his number and called himself so he'd have mine on his phone.
"There you go."
His fingers brushed my hand as he gave me back my phone.
For the second time in a handful of minutes, a jolt of heat went through me. First from Forrest, now from Leif Larsen. What was going on with me? I'd spent so long hiding from any kind of relationships. Any connection, especially physical. Now I had two men making my blood hot?
I got the impression I'd be hearing from Leif before he was ready to do any decorating for me. The idea was terrifying, but not unappealing.
I put my phone down and dug into my nachos. "These are really good."
"They are." Leif leaned over and grabbed a chip that was sticking out the side of my bowl. He toasted me with it before popping it into his mouth. "This place does tasty things so well."
He wasn't talking about the nachos.
I swallowed before I choked on my mouthful.
"So, you're friends with Woody Taylor-Francis?" Did I want to talk about him? Not really, but it seemed like a good idea to get the topic out of the way at the outset.
"Maybe. What did he tell you?" Leif asked.
"He didn't mention you. He was kind of busy trying to kill me," I said.
"Hmm, sounds like Woody," Leif said. "He’s always trying to kill someone."
"How often does he try to kill you?" I asked.
"To be honest, it's been a while," Leif said. "Either he's given up, or he's waiting for the right opportunity."
The smile in his eyes suggested he was joking. I wasn't so sure.
"He tried to kill you?"
"Absolutely," Leif said, shaking his head. "The first time we met, he almost shot me. I had to do some fast talking to convince him not to. He can be stubborn when he puts his mind to something."
My eyes widened.
"He almost shot you?" How had this man never been arrested?
"Yeah, but it was a misunderstanding," Leif said easily. "He thought I was someone I wasn't. When he realized, he decided not to shoot me. I guess you could say it worked out well for everyone."
"And you're still friends with him?" I asked.
"When you get to know him, he's a pretty good guy," Leif said. "I don't really hold a grudge. Lucky for him, or I'd be looking for the opportunity to kill him."
Right. I couldn't decide if these men were out of their minds or not. Trying to kill someone didn't say 'friendship' to me. Was it some weird male bonding thing?
"He also saved my life once," Leif added. "A guy tried to mug me. Woody chased him off."
"Are you sure it wasn't Woody who tried to mug you?" I asked.
"I don't think Woody would make a very good mugger. I'll have to suggest it to him. It'll give him a laugh."
"Don't encourage him," Forrest said.
"That sounds like a good idea," I said. Woody didn't need more encouragement to be violent.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Leif said. He nodded toward the ice. "They're starting warm-ups."
"Your brother is number sixty-nine, right?" I peered through the glass, trying to spot him. It wasn't difficult. Mikko Larsen had hair so blonde it was almost white. Curls peeked out from under the back of his helmet. He was also about six-foot-six. Someone like that was difficult to miss.
"That's him," Leif said, pointing. "He has a grudge with the D-man from the opposition. Someone is going to pick a fight tonight." He looked excited at the prospect.
"So he holds grudges and you don't?" I asked.
"Exactly," he agreed. "Mikko is the asshole in the family. I'm the nice guy."
Forrest snorted.
"Now who's trying to cast aspersions on whose reputation?" Leif asked.
Forrest raised his hands. "I didn't say a word."
"You didn't have to," Leif told him. He leaned past me and poked Forrest in the thigh. "You know what they say. A snort tells a thousand words."
"I think that's 'picture,'" Forrest said.
"Picture, snort, whatever," Leif leaned back and crossed his legs at his knees.
"I hold a grudge sometimes, but nothing like my brother.
He'd high stick the kid who stole his crayon when he was seven.
Seriously though, the D-man he hates? He's a total asshole.
I think he put the ass into hole, or the hole into ass, whatever.
Garrett Ryan is a total prick. He deserves to have his face punched. "
"Who deserves to have their face punched?"
I startled at the familiar voice.
Woody stepped into the box, closing the door behind him before glaring at the three of us. Me in particular.
"We were just talking about you," Leif said, grinning.
"I fucking dare you," Woody said. He smirked at me, then turned to Forrest, his expression clearly saying, 'what the ever-loving fuck is she doing here?'
"You can join us," Forrest said easily. "You remember Sable Kohl."
"I remember Woody from such moments as 'him trying to kill me,'" I said. Was he armed right now? No, he would have had to go through arena security like the rest of us, right? Of course, he still had hands, feet, and muscular thighs which looked strong enough to break heads.
What did I have? A nice hot bowl of nachos. I supposed I could throw it at him and run. I doubted I'd get very far, though, not to mention if the men to either side of me were working with him…
I looked from one to the other. Neither jumped out of their chair, trying to grab me by the arm to hold me down for him.
Yet.
"He's on his best behavior tonight," Forrest said. "Right, Woody?"
"I'll think about it."
Woody hooked an ankle around a chair and pulled it a couple of feet away from us before flopping down into it and lounging, legs stretched out, arms crossed.
"Depends how much she's going to fuck with you two tonight," he said. "I'm just here to watch hockey."
"I'm here to watch hockey too," I said.
However good Mikko Larsen was at holding a grudge, Woody seemed even better. It didn't help he was attractive, even scowling at me the way he was.
He used to be your stepson, I reminded myself.
If I had to guess, I'd say he was a handful of years older than me.
Was that why Wolfgang hadn't mentioned him?
Did he think I was going to run off with someone closer to my own age?
Given the opportunity, I absolutely would have, but not with a man who looked at me like he wanted to throw me out of the box.
"I've heard that before," Woody said.
"Just a suggestion, but you should tell yourself that," I said. "I don't want any trouble."
If anything, his scowl intensified.
"If you don't want any trouble, the door is that way." He jerked his head back toward it.
"Sable isn't going anywhere," Forrest said. "Let's all lighten up. Let the players on the ice do the fighting."
That sounded like a good idea to me. I wouldn't turn my back on Woody, but I would turn my attention to the ice as the players gathered together for puck drop.
"Which one is Garrett Ryan?" I asked.
"Number thirteen," Leif said.
I squinted.
Number thirteen was a wall of muscle with black hair, blue eyes and a scowl directed at Mikko. Yeah, there was definitely no love lost between those two.
Sticks in hand, they bent over, waiting for the official to drop the puck. Mikko won the face-off and the game started hard and fast.
Clack and skid; shout and slap. The players from both teams sprinted around the ice, sometimes so fast I could barely follow what was going on.
Garrett Ryan slammed Mikko hard against the boards before skating off.
The crowd groaned, but Mikko shook it off and shot off after him.
He stole the puck from Garrett, skated around behind the back of his goal and passed the puck to one of his teammates.
Between them and the rest of the line, they found their way past the opposition and put the puck into the goal first.
The crowd went wild.
"Hell yeah." Leif fist pumped the air. "That's what I'm talking about."
I grinned over at him. "This is exciting."
"Of course it is." He grinned back. "Best sport there is."
"What could be more fun than a bunch of people with knives on their feet?" Woody asked.
"Better on their feet than in their hands," I said.
I hated to think what he might do with a knife shoe. Or even a hockey stick. I was not going to think about any other stick he might have in his hand at any given moment.
Definitely not.
He gave me a sarcastic smile.
I shivered. Was I supposed to pretend nothing happened? That he hadn't been about to stab me the other night? I couldn't help a tiny hint of doubt. Maybe he was trying to scare me? To get me to… I don't know what.
No, I'd seen the look in his eyes. If it wasn't for Forrest, he would have followed through and not regretted it.
In the time it took for me to look at him, the opposition scored.
The crowd groaned.
I watched the Jumbotron for the replay, frustrated I missed it. This wasn't the kind of game you could look away from without missing something.
I dragged my eyes from the screen when Mikko and Garrett Ryan took off their gloves and started punching into each other.
"God, I love hockey." Leif grinned.
Since his brother now had blood coming from his nose, I wondered who was the violent one here in this box. Him or Woody?
What the hell had I gotten myself into?