Chapter 3 #2
I gasp and look at him quickly, making the truck swerve slightly. “Take that back!”
Alex holds up his hands as if surrendering. “You don’t like laser tag?”
“Not instead of ice hockey and ice skating! We have a paintball park and outdoor mini golf, and arcades are dark, and people play the games by themselves on machines. We want people outside, and out in the community, and spending time together.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I glance over. “What?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m the director of Parks and Rec for the town.”
“Ah.”
I arch a brow. “Ah?”
“You don’t want Sean Patrick to encroach on what you do.”
“Of course I don’t! He’s a pompous ass who didn’t care about Rebel until he went off to the big city and realized that he could only be important in a small town.
He’s back, so he can pretend he’s big shit.
He’s running for mayor against my grandfather now only because of the stroke and the hockey team leaving.
Before this he never would have had a chance! ”
“Wait, Harley, the beloved mayor is your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
He’s staring at me when I look at him again.
“Why aren’t you mad at me for how I treated him in October?”
“I am,” I say honestly. “But I need you. I need this hockey team to be successful, and you’re going to be a huge part of that.”
“Why is this hockey team such a big thing? Rebel really has nothing else going on?”
“We have a lot going on!” I protest. “We have gardening club, and art club, and walking club, and otter club, and—”
“Otter club? Like the animal?”
“Yes.”
“Come on.”
“Otter club,” I emphasize. “And movie nights, and picnics, and festivals, and holiday celebrations, and camps for the kids. We have a ton going on.” It’s my entire job to be sure things are going on.
Do I go overboard sometimes? Maybe. Do I take my job very seriously? Absolutely. I love my hometown and I will always do whatever I can to make it a fun, inclusive, happy place. So do we have the best Parks and Rec department and programs in the entire state? Damn right.
“But hockey is super important?” Alex asks.
“Well, yeah. Surely you understand that.” I’m chewing on my bottom lip again.
“I think hockey is the only important thing in the entire world,” he admits. “But I’m biased, and my worldview is very narrow.”
I look over. That was surprisingly self-deprecating.
“But I think there’s more to it for you and your town,” he says.
I blow out a breath. I’ll tell him whatever he needs to know to get him on board.
“Fine. Harley got C.W. to build the arena and was the one who got the team to come to town and…it’s his first and only failure.
” I feel my throat tighten. “I know that sounds hyperbolic, but it’s true.
Harley has always done right by the town, and for this to be a failure, on top of his stroke, and losing the election… it would just be too much.”
Alex is quiet for several seconds. “Who’s C.W.?”
“He was Harley’s son, my uncle. He passed away a few years ago.
He went off and got rich and then came back and spent the money on Rebel.
He owned like half the town. He left it all to my cousin, Dane.
But Dane doesn’t want to own half the town, and if someone would like to buy some—or all—of the properties, Dane would be thrilled.
” I look at Alex again. “We have to make this hockey team work. We need hockey and that ice arena to stay. We need the team to be a success. And Harley needs to win the election.”
“Because you love Harley or because you hate Sean Patrick?”
I meet his gaze directly. “Because of the town. They need Harley.” I pause, then add, “Making Sean Patrick’s return home a dismal failure would just be the sprinkles on top.”
“Got it.”
We drive past the Welcome to Rebel sign on the edge of town and head down Main Street. We pass the main intersection, and Alex pivots quickly in his seat.
“Is that a statue of an otter?”
“Yeah.” The twenty-foot-tall stone otter on her back legs, front paws folded, a sweet almost-smile on her face, is impossible to miss. As intended.
Alex turns back to me. “Why?”
“Trust me, you’ll hear the story eventually. But otters are…a thing…here.”
“Oh.” He clearly isn’t sure how to respond.
That’s fair.
Two minutes later, I pull up at the curb in front of Alex Olsen’s new address.
“Welcome home,” I say, shifting into park. “Your apartment is on the second floor.”
He looks at the building. “Perks and Rec?
I smile. “My grandpa Bruce owns it. It’s right next to City Hall, where the Parks and Rec department is, where my grandpa Harley worked for twenty-eight years.”
“Bruce and Harley are friends?”
“The best. Then about thirty years ago, they realized they were also in love and got married.”
Alex pauses, then nods. “Got it.” He turns to face me. “I think I should tell you, I’m not staying.”
I frown. “What do you mean?” He has to stay. He just has to.
“I’m here for the first season. That’s it. After that, I’m going back to Portland to work for the Grays. That’s the deal.”
Oh. Well… My surprise gives way to disappointment, but that dissolves quickly as well. Of course, he’s not staying.
Alex Olsen isn’t a small-town guy. He’s not a minor-league hockey player. He doesn’t fit in here, and there’s nothing really for him here. Not long-term.
Of course, he’s going to leave.
“But you’re here until April.”
“Yes.”
Okay. That’s what I really need. “So we’re on the same page.”
“We are.”
I stick out my hand. “Here’s to the new season.”
He takes my hand, his huge palm engulfing mine. His skin is hot, even more than the weather would account for. He doesn’t shake my hand and withdraw. He just holds it.
I’m aware of his size, the roughness of his skin, the solidness of even this part of his body against mine.
Damn. I don’t remember the last time a guy made my mouth dry by simply touching my hand. Has it ever happened?
“I’ll do my best to deliver what you need, Nora,” he says.
Is his voice husky? Or is that just my brain making that sound sexy?
I swallow and pull my hand away. “You have practice soon.”
“Yeah, late. Are they just waiting for me to get here?”
“Practice is at six p.m. every day.”
He frowns. “Why? It might be good—”
“Because it’s after work,” I insert.
He blinks at me.
I smile and explain. “The other guys on the team all have real jobs. Hockey here doesn’t pay like it does for you. The hockey is on the side.”
He frowns as if none of that computes.
I laugh. “A job is something people do to make money when they can’t convince people to pay them millions of dollars to slap a puck around on the ice.”
He chuckles and whoa. The sound rolls over me like a hot, delicious vibration that I want to go on and on.
“I’ve heard of ‘jobs’”, he says.
I swallow hard and try not to shift in my seat. “Are you aware that a lot of them happen during the day and are at least eight hours long at a time?”
He gives me a horrified, clearly sarcastic look. “Every day?”
“Sometimes,” I nod. “Though most are five days a week. It does vary which days, though, and some of them, like Beckett, who own their own businesses, work every day.”
“Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “Thank god I’m good at slapping a puck around on the ice.”
I laugh. “Truly. That’s going to be very good for us.”
“What do I do all day until six?”
“Sleep in. Work out.” I shrug. “Get to know the town. If you want to volunteer, we can definitely arrange something. If you’d like a job, we can do that too.”
He frowns. “I don’t need the money.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m aware. But jobs are also things that actually help other people. Towns and cities, communities, need the businesses in them.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Just continues frowning at something in front of my truck.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “That’s not a requirement.”
“It’s just…” He looks at me again. “I don’t know how to do anything. Other than hockey.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. But Alex has been playing hockey all his life. He didn’t go to college. He came to the US as an eighteen-year-old and immediately started playing for the Grays.
He blows out a breath and opens his door. He gets out and grabs his bags from the back, then he pokes his head back in the truck. “See you later, right?”
“It’s a small town. I’m sure we’ll run into each other,” I say flippantly.
“For sure. At the next otter club meeting, if not before.”
He smiles, and a bubbly heat swirls through my stomach. I’d love for him to come to otter club. “You don’t even know what we do at otter club.”
“Do I get to hang out with otters?”
“Well…yes.” Kind of.
“Real live ones?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
I shake my head. “But you’re a Reveler. You can’t be all cute and happy with the otters.”
“Why not?”
“That’s the mascot for the Rascals. Your arch rivals.”
He seems puzzled, which makes sense. The Rascals are also a brand-new team. I’m going to let Astrid fill him in on all the details.
“What are Revelers then? Some other cute animal I can play with?”
I laugh. “Definitely not. Your mascot is a Rougarou.”
“What the hell is a Rougarou?”
“It’s a swamp werewolf,” I tell him, watching his rich-city-boy face carefully.
Alex might be a professional athlete who has traveled all over to play hockey, but I’m getting the impression he’s been in a bit of a rich-famous-hot-guy bubble.
“The bottom half is human, with the head and upper body of a wolf. There’s a whole mythology around them. They hunt and eat naughty children.”
Yep, he looks properly horrified.
“That’s the mascot for a small-town hockey team that you hope families will come watch? Seriously?”
I grin. “Our Rougarou is Rougie, and he’s really cute and fluffy. My friend Andi designed him. We’ve even had stuffies made. He wears a Mardi Gras mask and beads and throws candy and toys to the kids. And he only eats King Cake.”
“That makes it better?” Alex asks.
“Sure. We’re taking a scary old fairytale and making it fun and kind.”
Alex shakes his head. “I’m definitely not in Portland anymore, am I?”
I laugh. “Not even close.”
“Are you going to help me navigate this?”
“Of course.” I smile. “I really want you to be successful here. Anything you need.”
He looks relieved. Then his gaze turns a little…hotter. His eyes once again drop to my mouth before returning to mine. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Did that sound flirtatious? Probably not. I’m making things up. “Okay.”
He steps back from the truck with a smile. “See you later, Wildflower.”
“Wildflower?” I ask, feeling a swirly curl of heat in my stomach again.
He glances at the back of my truck, which is filled with wildflowers. They’re flung all over the truck bed from the wind as we drove, and I’m sure the highway is littered with them.
“Yeah. Wildflower.”
“Oh.” He’s given me a nickname. I feel my cheeks heat. I’m actually blushing.
Wow.
I need to be careful around Alex Olsen.
We’re going to be spending time together, and we need to work as a team to make everything come together with the Revelers. But I can’t develop a crush. He’s not staying. And he won’t fit in here at all.
I’ve learned, the hard way, to only date men who want to make Rebel their home. For good. Like grow old here and be buried in the pretty cemetery on the hill that overlooks the town.
I do not think Alex will think the cemetery is pretty. Or that growing old in Rebel is a good plan.
So, no crush. No flirting. No fling.
Alex is here for hockey, and that’s it.
My gaze slides past Alex’s wide shoulder as I see movement in the big front window of Perks and Rec. I roll my eyes, sigh, and shut off the truck.
There is a crowd watching us.
“You know what? I think I’ll go in with you,” I say, opening my door.
Leo, Brewser, and Wilson aren’t back from New Orleans yet, but plenty of the people inside the coffee shop signed that damned petition.