Page 32 of Next Season
“Of course, I do,” I bluffed. “I love soup.”
“Hmm. Look, if I hit a nerve, I apologize. You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m curious, that’s all. If you ever feel like talking about it, I’m all ears.”
“All ears. Odd statement, but okay, I’ll let you know,” I conceded, aimlessly stirring the vegetables and broth with my head down.
The ensuing silence echoed uncomfortably. I couldn’t tell if I hated that I was the cause or that I was irrationally irritated at him for asking about my life. Definitely the latter. The last person I’d shared any part of my past with was Nolan. We were friends and work associates now, so I had no regrets there, but Riley…I didn’t know what we were.
“How was the party?”
“How is your head?”
We spoke at the same time.
I chuckled ruefully, adjusted the heat to a simmer, and stepped away from the stove, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed in a decidedly defensive stance. I couldn’t seem to relax, but I offered a small smile as if to let him know I was trying.
“The party went well, but I was in the kitchen, so what do I know? Tell me about your day.”
“I skated today.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. First time on the ice in so long, I could have fuckin’ cried. It was…amazing.”
I grinned. “This is good. And your head is okay?”
Riley tapped his temple and gave a thumbs-up. “Yep. I think being on the ice helped. Kimbo kept the lights dim and maybe it’s partially psychosomatic, but I never stopped to think it might be bad for me. I felt…free out there. No stick, no puck, just ice. My mind cleared and the thoughts that popped up were sweet memories of hanging out with my grandfather and that low rumble that vibrates through my whole body when the crowd goes wild. I made up plays in my mind…Xs and Os, and drilled shots with my imaginary stick like I did when I was a kid. I can’t wait to do it again. It was cathartic…like the best medicine ever.”
I arched a brow. “Better than a blowjob?”
He lowered his chin, blushing adorably when he met my gaze. “How’d I do earlier? Okay for a first effort?”
My heart lurched and swelled in my chest. Something about this warrior of a man captivated me. He was vulnerable yet fierce and proud at the same time. And I was humbled that he’d let his guard down and revealed this side of himself to me. Yes, it was probably all tied to sex and superstitious tuna salads, but…it was there. This fragile offering of personal truths.
Et moi? I’d given nothing in return. In my defense, I hadn’t known he wanted more from me.
I dropped my arms and tugged at his wrist, pulling him to me till we stood chest to chest. “You aremagnifique.”
Riley beamed, boyishly bashful and sexier than ever. “I can’t believe I did that, but…I liked it.”
I ran my fingers along his side and brushed our noses before pressing a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Me too. Were you buttering me up to get information out of me?”
He punched my biceps, glowering as he pushed out of my hold. “Fuck you, but…maybe.”
That made me laugh. “Maybe?”
“I mean, I wasn’t consciously thinking that was some kind of warped trade, but…subconsciously maybe. I don’t know. I was curious.” He threw his hands in the air and sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know how to talk to people about real things. It’s a major fault of mine. No wonder I’m always single. The second a woman wants to share deep secrets and get ‘real’ with me, I duck for cover. I don’t have a good reason. No trauma, no dark past. I have an amazing family, I love my job, but I always feel like I’m on the outside looking in. That’s on me. Maybe I’m broken.”
“Don’t say that,” I scolded.
“Too dramatic, huh? I swear I’m not looking for sympathy. My mild case of social anxiety isn’t exactly noteworthy. It’s too hard to explain to anyone, so I rarely try, and—” He paused abruptly and scratched his head. “I don’t know where I was going with that.”
“You subconsciously seduced me by giving your first ever blowjob to extract information from me. And maybe you’re shy too,” I added the last sentence in a dry voice I hoped would make him smile.
Ahh! There it was. That beautiful moonbeam, ear-to-ear grin that made his lovely eyes twinkle.
“I’m not shy, asshole,” he sputtered, still chuckling. “I’m just…not great with people.”
“I disagree.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully and blurted, “I was drafted when I was eighteen. It was a one-way contract. I was never going to the NHL, but I had a decent ten-year run, then…poof! It was gone.”