Page 6 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

RUBY

“Can I talk to you?” Nick asks his dad in a low voice that doesn’t conceal his annoyance.

At me? His dad? The world?

He sets my suitcase down next to the front door but doesn’t look at me. Which is fine because when he does, it makes strange things happen in my stomach. The man is intimidating even without all the jaw-clenching moodiness.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.” Mike ignores his son and smiles at me. “Let me give you a quick tour, darling.”

He pats at his pockets. “As soon as I find my keys.”

After another few seconds of searching, Mike glances to Nick with an “aww shucks” expression. “Would you mind running back to the house? I must have left the keys there with the cleaning supplies.”

Nick looks like he wants to tell his father to go to hell, but instead he dips his head in a nod and leaves us. The tension in the air lets out like a balloon in his absence.

I take the opportunity to fix my stare back on the lake.

It really is perfect. Breathtaking. It’s colder here than I imagined, but surely I packed a sweatshirt somewhere in my giant suitcase.

It was hard to decide what to bring for a six-week trip.

The longest I’ve ever vacationed or traveled for work is two weeks, and when confronted with packing the things I couldn’t live without – I was maybe a skosh too presumptuous.

“Don’t mind my son. He’s just cranky from traveling,” Mike says in his son’s absence.

“He was a perfect gentleman.” Which is mostly true.

Not friendly or polite, but he did help me with my bags, twice now.

Aside from making me feel like an idiot, the only real issue I have with him is his general aloofness and the daggers he shot in my direction.

Which might have been aimed at his father instead of me.

It’s hard to tell where his irritation lies but suffice to say, I am not winning him over.

“He doesn’t seem thrilled about having me here though. ”

“Don’t worry. You two will barely know the other exists.” Mike reaches into his pocket again and this time he pulls out a key. “Ah, there it is.”

I glance back at Nick, expecting Mike to call out and let him know he doesn’t need to retrieve the keys from the house, but his son is already halfway across the yard.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask, inhaling the scent of pine and lake as he works the key into the lock.

The porch is stunning and goes all the way around the house.

Next to the front door, a white rocking chair is angled toward the lake.

Resting on the seat is a throw pillow with the words #1 Grandpa crocheted on the front.

It isn’t the décor I was expecting, but I’m already picturing evenings out here with my laptop and a glass of iced tea.

“Almost two years now, I guess. Time moves in leaps and bounds when you get to my age.”

“I have heard forty is a rough age for that.”

His mouth pulls into a pleased grin. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”

He rattles the doorknob as he gives the key a final twist and then pushes the door open. I follow Mike inside with one last glimpse over my shoulder.

The cabin is in direct line from the main house. The landscaping gives it some semblance of privacy. Still, the idea of staying so close to the man who clearly doesn’t want me here has me feeling uneasy.

I would describe the general aesthetic of the place as masculine.

Woods and dark colors, very little art or clutter.

Still, it’s clean and well-kept. The front room has a soft brown leather couch and a coffee table staring at a small fireplace with a TV mounted above.

There’s also a dining area next to the kitchen with a circle table set for two. The stove sparkles like it’s brand-new.

I run a hand over the countertop as I explore. “This kitchen is a dream.”

“Do you cook?”

“Only when I’m on deadline.” Which means there are a lot of chocolate chip cookies and banana bread in my future.

“Well, it’s all brand-new. Top of the line, if I know my son.”

“Nick picked out the appliances?” I ask. “I thought this was your place.”

“It is, but he picked out everything.”

I must look confused because Mike adds, “He bought and renovated the place for me when I moved in with them, but it’s too much space. I don’t need the fuss. Plus, I can bug him better from the main house.”

Words fail me as I process this new knowledge of Nick buying a house for his father. It’s such a generous, loving thing to do, and I’m having a hard time reconciling it with Nick’s overall indifferent demeanor.

“You’ll be the first person to test out everything.” He walks over to the front windows and pulls back the curtains to let in light. Another jaw-dropping view of the lake greets me.

Beyond the kitchen, Mike shows me a small room that’s currently set up as an office with a table and chair, then a larger bedroom with a sliding glass door that faces the lake and a nice bathroom with a tub, shower, and double vanity.

“The pictures didn’t do it justice,” I say after he’s shown me everything. Forgetting about Nick, who still hasn’t reappeared, it really is perfect.

Mike tips his head back, scanning the place like he’s seeing it again for the first time. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I really do.” There’s something about the lake glimmering under the sunshine and the mountains in the distance that sparks a need to capture the feeling on paper.

“I’ll leave you to get settled, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to text me or come up to the main house. If I’m not there, ask Nick.”

Fat chance of that. I’m not asking Nick anything. In fact, I hope I don’t see him for the rest of my time here. I, of course, can’t tell Mike that.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to bother either you or him.” Not the entire truth, but still accurate.

All Mike says is, “You’re no bother.”

He opens the front door to go and smiles. “Ah, there he is now.”

Nick comes to a stop on the entryway of the front door. The time apart did not make his heart grow fonder. I always hated that saying anyway.

“I see you found the key.” His dry tone is breathless, jaw still shockingly tight. Looks painful. And kind of hot. He has a dimple in his chin, barely visible under a layer of dark facial hair. I always loved cleft chins, and he pulls it off better than most.

Surprise, surprise. I’m attracted to the jerk. My libido has no sense of self-preservation.

“Sorry about that, Son. Thanks for checking.” Mike glances to me. “We’ll leave you to get settled. You have my cell number?”

I think for a moment, then nod. “Yes.”

“Text me if you need anything or feel free to ask Nick.”

His son’s eyes go comically wide for a fraction of a second, but Mike is watching me and whatever he sees on my face makes him laugh.

“Don’t let him fool you, he isn’t so scary.” Mike grins and leaves.

Scary isn’t the word I’d use. Grumpy. Frustrating. Handsome.

Nick lingers in the doorway after his dad is gone.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on needing anything,” I reassure him.

His jaw tightens again.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“What?” he asks in such a sullen way that a small laugh escapes my lips.

“Grinding down on your molars like that? You’re going to break a tooth.”

I should have guessed my prodding him would only make him glare harder, but it still catches me off guard and I giggle again.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“Look, I get it. You’re not thrilled I’m here, but I really won’t get in your way. My only plan is to work and sit out by the lake.” I don’t think he’s prepared to hear my entire summer to-do list. He thinks I’m weird enough as is.

He nods, jaw relaxing a fraction. “Fine. Do you need anything?”

I fight a laugh. I bet that hurt him to ask.

“No,” I say, then do think of something. “Actually, can you tell me how far it is to the hockey rink?”

“Fifteen minutes or so. Why?”

“I’m meeting my contact there tomorrow.”

“At the rink?” The way he looks at me, you’d think I brought up smuggling body parts again.

“Yeah. I’m interviewing a hockey expert.”

His brows furrow harder. I have the ridiculous urge to step forward and smooth out all the lines on his face. I wonder what he looks like without all that hot grumpiness. Gasp. Maybe he’s only hot when he’s scowling. Nah, this guy is hot in any scenario.

“I’m a romance author and I’m editing a book…” I let my words trail off. “The hero of my book plays baseball, but my editor wants me to change it to hockey.”

He continues to stare at me like he expects the words to make sense if he thinks about them hard enough. So I spell it out for him.

“I need help with some of the rules and terminology. I don’t know sports puck stuff.”

“Sports puck?” It comes out more like he’s questioning the universe instead of me.

Slowly, he tips his head back and looks up like he’s praying to the gods or in deep concentration, then as if connecting the dots that I just very clearly laid out for him asks, “You’re an author and you came here to interview a hockey expert for your book? ”

“Mhmm.” He’s literally just repeating my words.

“And you’re meeting this expert at the hockey rink tomorrow?”

“Yes?” I say but now it sounds like I’m the one questioning my plans. It’s been a long day and his grumpy aura is throwing me off.

“Who is your contact?”

“I can’t remember. Your dad knows though. He set it up. You know what? Never mind. I can see you’re very busy perfecting your resting grump face. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

He lowers his chin, fixing me with that weighty scowl, then does the most surprising thing yet—he laughs. It’s not a happy sound, but a deep, rough chuckle that skates over my skin. He has dimples in both cheeks that are in a word, disarming. “Good luck with that, Red.”

Then he turns on his heel and marches back toward the house.

“Good luck with that?” I mumble, then louder, “Red? Seriously? How original!”

What an asshole. I slam the door, hopefully sealing out all the bad vibes. I’m determined to make this cabin my happy place for the next six weeks despite Nick, despite months of not writing, and every other thing stacked against me.

I can do this. I have to do this. This is my shot to prove to Doreen, Molly, myself, and everyone else that I have another great book in me.

I hold on to that hope as I sit on the couch and pull out my laptop. Once I navigate to my email, I find the one Molly sent over with the hockey expert’s contact details and meeting information. Nick was no help, but who needs him?

My body flushes from head to toe and I read the name twice, then a third time, hoping I’m seeing things.

“Nick Galaxy,” I say in a whisper as I let my head fall back against the cool leather. The grumpy man who I just promised not to bother is the one person I need to finish this book.