17. Peyton
PEYTON
I blink at the sign several times, convinced my eyes are deceiving me. “Why are we at Green Mountain Outfitters?”
“You need some warmer, more practical clothing. Fall is almost here and temperatures will start dropping. Winters are frigid.”
I turn to him, wondering if he’s lost his mind.
He’s babbling.
Daltyn Guyer does not babble. He’s the stoic, always in control goalie who never loses his cool.
At least, not until now.
He shuts his door and rounds the vehicle to my side. The door opens, and he lifts me out, making sure I’m steady before he removes his hands.
“But, why now?”
“We’re going to be at the rink. It’s going to be cold there.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
He eyes me critically. “No gloves. No hat. And it would be a good idea for you to have a coat in case you get cold. ”
I snort, but he takes my hand, and rational thought flees. We head toward the door, my small hand wrapped around his much larger one.
Once inside, Daltyn guides me to a clothing section that has my eyes bugging out of my head.
“I’m not climbing a mountain. Why in the world would I need these gloves?”
“They’re warm.”
“They look like part of a mountain search and rescue team.” I drag a hand through my hair, trying to make him see reason. My eyes land on a cute pair of gloves. “These are cute.”
Daltyn wraps a hand around one, scowling. “Snow and cold will go right through these things.”
“I don’t intend to build snowmen with them. These are perfect for going from your truck to the coffee shop.”
He grumbles but throws them in the basket. He also throws the heavy pair in there.
“I thought this was just a temporary arrangement. Why do I need to try on clothing that would keep an Eskimo warm?”
He stares at me, his scowl deepening. “It’s called preparation, Peyton.” He leads me over to a coat that looks like it weighs more than I do.
“No.” I point at it, shifting my weight onto my good ankle. “Absolutely not.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Look at it. It’s huge.”
He looks at the sizes and then pulls one from the rack. “Come on. Just try it on.” He takes it off the hanger and holds it out.
“Are you crazy?”
“Come on, Peyton. Please?”
I huff, hating that pouty look on his face. His bottom lip juts out slightly.
“Fine.”
A wide smile is on his face as he puts the jacket on me. I start sweating, feeling like I’ve gained five pounds.
“This thing is hot,” I complain. “And heavy.”
Daltyn is all smiles as he tugs the zipper up. “Good length.”
“Good length? It covers my butt!”
He gives me a look. “And when it’s freezing, your ass will be warm.”
“But no one will see it.”
“Why does anyone need to see your ass?” he snaps.
I lift the coat and turn around. “Because I do squats and lunges to keep it firm.”
“It’s a nice ass. But no one?—”
He stops himself like he almost said something he shouldn’t.
“What? No one should look at it?”
“Peyton.” There’s a warning tone in his voice.
“Daltyn.” I imitate his tone. “Get me out of this coat.”
Instead, he tugs it over my ass, then smooths the collar.
“Damn thing feels like a sauna. Get me out of this before I pass out.”
He sighs and unzips it. “So dramatic.”
I glare at him, then spot a purple jacket over his shoulder. “Ohhh, now that is promising.”
He removes the coat from my shoulders, then looks at the rack of jackets I’m pointing at. “Those?”
“Yes, those. The purple one is pretty.” I head over to it, my fingers gliding over the soft material.
He scoffs. “Peyton, it’s too thin.” He tugs on the sleeve. “It won’t be warm enough.”
“Stop trying to winterize me.”
“Winterize?”
“Yes. It’s not like I’m going to be training like Rocky Balboa in Russia.” I tug on the other sleeve. “I want to try this one on.”
His lips twitch. “Fine.” He holds it out. I slip my arms into it, already enjoying the way it feels.
“It’s warmer than you’d think.” I try to twist in front of a nearby mirror, but my boot impedes me.
“You just like that it shows your butt.”
“I can’t see my butt from this far away.”
Daltyn fixes the collar and tugs on the sleeve. “It’s not bad.” His voice lowers, deep and raspy. “It looks really nice on you.”
“Really?” I beam at him. I lift my hand to push a strand of hair from my face, spotting the price tag. “Oh, God. This is too expensive.”
Daltyn’s hand grabs my wrist. “No, it’s not. You need a coat.”
“But—”
“Stop, Peyton. I’ve got it.” He zips it, then guides me closer to the mirror. “Look how good it looks on you.”
I stare at it longingly. I really like it.
He leans closer, lips hovering by my ear. “I’m buying it for you. No arguments.”
My eyes meet his in the mirror. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He unzips the jacket, then helps me out of it.
Tossing it over his arm, he says, “Come on. You need a hat and some boots.”
I roll my eyes. “This is excessive. ”
“Practical, Pey. Not excessive.”
I grin, trying to pretend the way he just called me Pey doesn’t affect me. Even though my belly is full of butterflies, and my pulse is beating against my neck.
Fine. I’m a damn liar.
Even if it’s only to myself.