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CHAPTER TWELVE

Marissa

By the time Dozer drives us back to the condo building, I’m warm and loose with a couple of beers in me and feeling better about this move than I have since I made the decision to come here.

It was the right decision. I know that. I knew it when I made it, and even with the cool welcome I received from the majority of the people in my office, I knew it was still the right choice for me.

That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been difficult, though. Moving to a new city far from home where I don’t know anyone is bound to be challenging. And while I love a challenge, when every single aspect of life is a challenge, it gets to be too much.

“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” I tell him again after he parks and I climb out of his truck. I give the door panel an affectionate pat after I close it. “This really is a good little truck. And a pretty color. I get why you don’t want to get rid of it. I had to sell my last project car, and even though I know the buyer will love that sweet little car to pieces, I put so much time and effort into it that the money I made from the sale hardly makes up for it.”

Dozer gives me a sympathetic look as he comes around the truck, his hand going behind me like he’s going to rest it on the small of my back as he ushers me toward the door, but he pulls it back at the last second, stuffing his hand in his pocket and falling in step beside me instead. “Why’d you have to get rid of the car?”

I shrug, standing back as he opens the door for me. He really is a gentleman—holding doors, paying for my drinks even though I tried to insist we should split the bill. I’ve discovered that holding doors is a lot less common around here than it is back home. Growing up, guys always rushed to hold a door for ladies, my guy friends jogging ahead to reach the doors first when we were in a group, men at stores stopping and waiting for several seconds if they saw me approaching so they could hold the door for me. It’s just the way things are done down there.

And from spending time in California and traveling a bit, I knew it wasn’t the norm everywhere. But it’s still taken some adjustment.

Which is part of why it’s so nice that Dozer does it. It makes me feel all warm and happy.

“Where’d you say you were from again?” I ask with a grin as I walk through the door, turning to face him as he follows me in.

He gives me a quizzical look. “I grew up in Michigan, but I’ve lived a bunch of places since then. Juniors took me to a few cities in Canada, and I’ve lived in several major US cities before ending up here.”

“What about your parents? Where are they from?”

Another quizzical look as we head for the elevator, and he punches the button to call it to the main floor. “The midwest. My dad’s family is spread throughout Michigan. He grew up in Ann Arbor, then moved to Detroit for college. My parents still live there. My mom moved there from Ohio to go to college.”

“You sure no one’s from down south? You’ve got the manners of a southerner.”

He gives me a bashful smile, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Oh, well …” Ducking his head, he scratches behind one ear. “Thanks?”

Chuckling, I bump him with my shoulder, though I only hit his upper bicep. It’s interesting being this close to a man who’s so broad and several inches taller than me. He’s not a giant or anything, but Peter wasn’t much taller than me, so when I was in heels like I am now, we were basically the same height. He got annoyed if I wore heels that were too tall. Not that I did often—they’re not comfortable enough for me to be willing to wear them regularly—but it always kind of annoyed me that he felt so entitled to make demands of my footwear. Because he didn’t want anyone to think I might be taller than him or something. Not that anyone would? Because wouldn’t my three-inch heels be kind of obvious to anyone paying attention?

I wouldn’t have to worry about that with Dozer.

I give myself a mental shake. Of course I wouldn’t have to worry about that with Dozer. Laying aside the fact that three-inch heels wouldn’t make me the same height as him, Dozer and I aren’t dating. Don’t have plans to date. He’s not interested in dating and neither am I. We’re hanging out as friends and nothing more.

“Do you mind if I walk you to your door?” he asks. “Or if you’re not ready to call it a night yet, you could come up to my place. Watch the hockey highlights from today?”

His cheesy grin makes me laugh. “I’ll pass on the hockey highlights for tonight, but maybe some other time. You’ll have to explain the game to me if we’re going to hang out. All I know is that you try to get the puck into the other team’s net.”

“Basically, yeah. Obviously there’s a bit more finesse to it than that, but stripped to its core, that’s the essence of the game.”

When the elevator doors slide open, we step in, and Dozer leans against the back wall, arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest and causing the cuffed sleeves of his shirt to strain over his biceps. I do my best not to stare, but it’s difficult when faced with such potent evidence of his strength and size.

“Right.” I clear my throat because that word came out far too hoarse for my liking. “Right. How many players are on the ice at once?”

“Six. A center, two wingers, two D-men, and a goalie.”

“D-men?”

He flashes a grin again, and the dimple I noticed earlier appears in his right cheek. It’s cute. I want to touch it, but of course, I keep my hands to myself. “Defensemen. Like me.”

I nod, the conversation he had with the manager at the bar flashing through my mind. “Gotcha. Okay. And what about wingers?”

Uncrossing his arms, he holds up his left palm, placing three fingers down from his right hand. “There’s three guys in front. The center.” He taps his middle finger. “The right wing.” He taps his third finger. “And the left wing.” He taps his index finger. “Wingers.”

“Okay. That makes sense.” I furrow my brow, considering all of this and the tiny snippets of hockey I’ve caught over the years when sports news highlights were on TV. I never paid much attention, though. I wanted them to hurry up and get to the football part. Or if football season was over, I didn’t pay much attention until baseball season rolled around. My parents would watch basketball, but that always felt to me more like something to bridge the gap between football and baseball than a genuine interest or love of the game. Shaking my head, I offer a smile as the doors open for my floor. “I think I’d probably have to see a game for it to make much sense. Or for me to even have coherent questions.”

He chuckles. “Good thing you have tickets for a game. You can watch, take notes, and I’ll answer all your questions afterward.”

That makes me laugh, and I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much with anyone. It feels like it’s been ages.

Sure, breaking up with Peter lifted a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying, and I spent more time with friends after the breakup, especially at first. But after getting a new job and throwing myself into the corporate world, my life has gotten so much more serious.

“I can’t promise I’ll take notes. But I’m sure I’ll have questions.” I pull out my keys and nod at my door. “This is me.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets again when I turn to face him. “So this is where you live.” He nods back toward the elevator. “I’m two floors up. Unit seven one eight.”

“Good to know.” I unlock my door then face him again. “Thanks again for tonight. I’ve been so caught up in my routine that I forgot how fun it was to hang out with a friend.”

He gives me a soft smile. “The pleasure was all mine.”

I laugh quietly. “There go those southern manners again.”

And once again, the tips of his ears turn pink. “What can I say?” He spreads his arms. “I guess I was just born a gentleman.”

Shaking my head, I lean step back and look him up and down. “No. Trust me. Gentlemen are made, not born. You chose to be that way. And it’s a better testament to the kind of person you are than any accident of birth.”

His smile turns serious, and his blue eyes examine mine. “Thank you, Marissa. I appreciate the compliment. And thank you for inviting me to go out with you. I had a good time getting to know you. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t.”

We both say goodnight, and I step inside my door, closing it gently behind me and waiting a few seconds before turning the deadbolt.

Maybe, despite our terrible first impressions, Dozer and I can be friends after all.

The morning before Dozer’s game, I open my front door to discover a gift bag. Inside is a neatly folded Seattle Emerald’s hoodie with a note from Dozer.

Marissa,

I’m sure you have plenty to wear tonight, but I thought you might like wearing the team colors. I hope you enjoy the game. Text me afterward if you have any questions!

Dozer

Grinning, I set the hoodie on my breakfast bar and pull out my phone to send him a text.

Thanks for the hoodie. I’m excited to wear it tonight!

But since it’s a work day, I don’t sit around hoping he’ll text back. Instead, I tuck my phone into my bag and head out.

Game days mean suits, right? That’s what happened the day I gave him a jump. He was on his way to a game.

The image of him leaning over the hood of his truck in his suit, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, pants pulled tight across a taut, round ass …

Blinking, I shake that off. Dozer and I are friends. He’s apparently a generous friend. Or he sees the hoodie as part of his way of paying me back for helping with the battery. Considering he probably gets free tickets but not necessarily free merch, him spending a little money that I now realize he can easily afford on a sweatshirt doesn’t feel like too much.

But I definitely don’t need to fantasize about his body.

“I’m not dating right now,” I remind myself out loud. “I’m getting settled and finding my bearings, and maybe in six months or a year I’ll feel more open to the possibility of a relationship. Even so, I’m never doing dating apps again. If it happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t, I can be happy on my own.”

I repeat the last sentence to myself as I grab my things and head out the door.

I can be happy on my own .

It’s the mantra I’ve been using since I broke up with Peter despite my brief detours back into the dating world.

But those just solidified that I can , in fact, be happy on my own. Not only that, but I’m far more happy on my own than with the wrong company.

I have friends and family for when I feel lonely. And a really good vibrator for the other needs one might use a man for. Besides, in my experience, the vibrator does a better job anyway.

Sure, Dozer’s attractive. But we’re friends. That’s all either of us is looking for anyway.