Page 25 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

The message an hour after I get home.

Do you have plans tonight?

Although it’s a Colorado area code, I don’t recognize the number.

Outside, it’s dark with the streetlights casting shadows over the snow-covered lawn in front of the building.

I glance at the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of me, then run a hand over my baggy sweatpants.

They’ve been my favorites since high school and boast more than one hole I’ve mended with my minimal sewing skills. I give myself a mental head shake.

Am I so desperate for connection that I’m going to be one of those people who answers a random text to get drawn in by some scammer or catfishing scheme?

Me: Who is this?

Eric.

Oh. That’s…unexpected. It sends a strange ripple of awareness across my skin. Did my brother give him my number? I can’t imagine?—

My phone dings again.

Eric: I got your number from Rhett. Do you have plans?

Me: Not really.

Eric: Want to grab dinner?

My heart trips, stumbling over the possibility that he’s asking me out on a date. Or does he figure I’m around and he doesn’t know anybody else?

Eric: Stop overthinking. It’s food. I know you like to eat.

Rude. But not untrue.

Me: What time?

A second later, there’s a loud rap on my door. My phone pings.

Eric: Now.

I pad to the door and open it. “Ever hear of giving a person a little advanced notice?”

“I’m hungry,” he says as an explanation.

His hand is resting on the overhead door frame.

He’s so tall it barely feels like he has to reach for it.

He looks like he belongs there, taking up space in my world.

I can’t see his muscles straining under the thick fabric of his canvas coat, but I know they’re there.

My body senses it too. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and my lady parts stand on tiptoe like they’re about to start twerking to get his attention .

“I need a few minutes.” Why does it sound like I’m panting? Stop freaking out, I command myself. “I’m not dressed.”

His gaze slides over me. “You’re dressed. I’d notice if you weren’t.”

He says it casually, but his eyes glimmer just enough to make me blush.

“Dressed in something besides ratty sweatpants and a flannel.”

“You look good in flannel.”

“Are you messing with me?”

The corner of his mouth kicks up, and he steps inside my apartment without being invited. I automatically move back because I’m not sure those trembling lady parts could handle it if he touched me, even accidentally. And who knows what could happen if he did it on purpose again?

“Think of it as part of the coaching package,” he says. “Confident people take compliments. What are you going to do when some guy at the theater says you look nice in your…?” He trails off, smirking. “Costume.”

“Stutter and run away?” I suggest, not at all sarcastically.

He grins fully now, and sweet Jesus, that smile is pure sin.

“You have five minutes. I’m really hungry.”

“Wow. You’re so charming. I bet women love it when you show so much patience.”

“Most women aren’t interested in going out to dinner or clothes when I’m in their apartment. Unless they’re changing into skimpy lingerie.”

“I’m not putting on anything to impress you,” I say, sounding every bit the prudish wallflower. “But I am in the mood for Mexican.”

“You already impress me.” His eyes crinkle as he leans forward. “But I bet you don’t even own anything lace.”

That sounds like a challenge. The words would be my cue for the blush, stutter, and run-away routine if this were any other man. But I like sparring with Eric. He makes me nervous, in the good lady parts way, but not panic.

“You’d be wrong,” I tell him slowly. “I happen to have a thing for matching bras and panties. So there you go, smart guy.”

His smile falters a fraction, and something darker flickers in his gaze. Before he can respond, I do run, but it’s more for self-preservation than anything else.

I strip out of my clothes and change into jeans and a cable-knit sweater. My pulse is racing as if I’m preparing for something bigger than just dinner.

Are they my best jeans? Yep. The ones that make my butt cheeks look like two ripe peaches.

That’s what Avah told me when she dragged me to a boutique in Boulder for a day of shopping just before Christmas. I bought the jeans to wear on a first date with Bryan.

And this isn’t a date, nor do I want it to be. I’m practically chanting the reminder in my head.

The sweater I choose is fluffy and just a smidge form-fitting. It’s cozy, but hugs my body in all the right places. Another item purchased in anticipation of a first date with my long-time crush.

I tell myself I’m going to dinner with Eric as part of a bigger goal and need to ignore my body’s reaction to the dark-haired demigod standing in my kitchen.

Although it’s hard to keep that in mind when his jaw goes slack as I come around the corner of the hallway.

I like the way he reacts to me way too much.

He clears his throat and looks away. “Tell me you don’t drink those fruity frozen drinks,” he demands like that’s all he’s thinking about right now.

“Top shelf margarita on the rocks, no salt.” I grab my purse and jacket. “And we’re definitely ordering guacamole. They make it fresh at the table.”

“I can get behind tableside guac,” he tells me with a smile. “Don’t find that much in Germany.”

“Are you homesick for your regular life?” I ask as we head down the stairs and out the back door toward the covered parking behind the building. The cold night air bites a little, and I pull my jacket tighter around me.

He hits the key fob to unlock his truck, and I climb in, noticing how it smells like him—a mix of cedar, cold air, and something distinctly male. The scent wraps around me as I click my seatbelt into place. It’s an unfair advantage all the way around.

“I miss the routine and a bunch of my teammates.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“But I’ve always been aware Germany isn’t home.

It’s part of the deal with hockey. I’ve played in six different cities since I left college.

The fact that I lasted so long in Munich is nice, but I don’t depend on it. ”

“Do you consider Minnesota home?” I’m trying to wrap my mind around his attitude. I understand what he’s saying, but I was a baby when my dad retired and moved the family to Skylark. It’s the only home I remember. And as much as my family can irritate the heck out of me, I love it here.

“I won’t go back to Minnesota. Who knows where I’ll end up once I hang up my skates.” He pauses before pulling out onto the street. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but his fingers tap the steering wheel like he needs to release his pent-up energy. “Where am I headed?”

“A question for the ages,” I murmur, thinking about how I was pondering that exact thing not so long ago on the sidewalk in front of Tony’s.

He snickers. “Let’s focus on tonight for now.”

“Downtown” I tell him. “Casa Rosa is a couple blocks from the library, around the corner from the hardware store.”

He nods. “Got it.” He’s quiet for a couple of seconds before he asks, “What about you?” He casts a sidelong glance at me. “Have you ever thought about starting over somewhere new? A town where you aren’t the little sister.”

“It’s not the worst thing to be known as,” I say with a laugh. I like being part of something bigger than me. It’s messy and complicated, but it’s mine.

His only answer is a shrug.

“I finished undergrad early and went right into a master’s program. When I graduated, I applied for a job at a school library in a pretty big district in San Diego.”

“Didn’t like California?”

“My mom died just before my final interview. It wasn’t the right time to leave.

” The silence settles heavy between us, and I rush to fill it.

“She was the one who wanted me to spread my wings, and I realized I was doing it more for her than for me. I like having my family close, even if I sometimes wish they weren’t so close.

I love seeing my nieces, and if I have kids someday, I want them to grow up close to family. ”

“You’ll have kids someday. You’re the type.”

“Did you just call me maternal? Because that doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It was meant as one, and there are worse things to be known for,” he says, repeating my earlier words as he parks the truck. The glow of the lights from the restaurant spills out onto the sidewalk, warming the darkness. “Like a manwhore.” He rolls his eyes. “Even one with a heart.”

“Point taken,” I tell him.

He grins. “Agreeing with me looks good on you, Tinkerbell.”

That devastatingly sexy smile makes it difficult to remember that I’m not interested in this man.

Not interested, I repeat in my head like a mantra, trying to drown out the memory of his hands on my skin.

The truth is, I’m more certain every day that there's so much more to him than his past reputation as a player. And I want to know every single part.

The restaurant is crowded and filled with the hum of happy voices.

Skylark locals are clearly ready to brave the cold for the best tacos in town.

But we’re seated right away at a booth near the back.

The waitress brings us waters, plus chips and salsa.

I order my favorite marg and the guacamole while Eric gets a beer.

As soon as the waitress walks away, he digs into the chip, frowning a little when I don’t join him.

“Tell me you don’t have a problem with salsa on its own. Are you an avocado snob?”

I grin. “I’m a perfect-bite snob. I’m waiting for the guac so I can layer it with the salsa and the right proportion of chip. There’s more to eating than just shoveling food into your mouth.”

His eyebrows lift as he points a chip at me. “So that’s what you do.”

“What’s what I do?”