Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(25)

“A story?” Jed shifted on the plush chair. It was too soft. Hurt his back. “I’m not much of a reader.”

“You’re funny.” She paused to take a noisy sip from her frosty tumbler. “I like it.”

The beverage inside was lime colored and icy. His mouth was dry and his stomach felt as small and hard as a walnut.

“I’ve been trying checking up on you.” She swayed a little to the Bruce Springsteen piping in from the backyard. “There’s not a lot of juicy material out there.”

He nodded. “I’m pretty dry.”

“Your love life seems like it.” Her gaze was appraising. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Guess I haven’t found the right one.” His parents’ marriage didn’t inspire wild fantasies. Unlike Breezy, he didn’t believe in fairy tales. Instead he believed in quiet, strained silences, the din of cable news television drowning out unhappiness.

“Hmm. And family? You see much of them?”

Despite the wrinkles, her eyes were sharp. This wasn’t befuddled questioning from an elderly woman. Hell no, this was an experienced bloodhound. There could be little doubt where Neve inherited her skills.

Jesus.

Talk about getting the third degree. He glanced to the hall and it was empty. Where was Sam? The kid must have a bladder like a camel. And Breezy was nowhere to be seen. It was like being alone with the Godfather.

Part of him suspected that this might not be an accident.

“I wasn’t asked in here to play a game, was I?”

Granny’s eyes widened even as they glinted. “Whatever do you mean?”

He leaned forward, clasped his hands and set them on the table. “Mrs. Angel—”

“Good lord, son, don’t call me that. Makes me think my mother-in-law is back from the dead and standing behind my shoulder.” She gave a visible twitch. “That woman was a dragon lady of the highest order, although I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. Now, please, Granny Dee. That’s what family and friends call me. And I’d like to think we could be friends.”

This wasn’t how he expected the day to go. Although again, what did he expect?

So might as well roll with it. He rubbed his temple. It wasn’t one of the headaches per se. More a twinge. An ache. Right where he’d been hit. His vision smearing continued without any sign of improving.

“I’m a straight shooter, Mrs . . . uh . . . Granny.” Despite his best effort, his voice was strained. “If you have something you want to say. Hit me.” He fought for a grin. “I’ve got experience in that department.”

“Don’t I know it. You’re not one of the flashy players, but you’re one hell of a workhorse. Good instincts, one of the best shot blockers in the league. But we can talk shop another time. Right now I want to know what a guy like you is doing with Breezy.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He bristled.

“You don’t think she’s a little . . . ordinary for the likes of you?”

The memory of her weight in his arms. Her kisses on his lips. The way she made him feel warm, anchored, actually in his body rather than floating along rose within him. That big hair and bigger smile.

“That’s the last word I’d use to describe her, ma’am.”

“Go on.” Granny slid her drink over. “Have a sip, sonny. Before you burst a blood vessel.”

He picked it up and took a long swallow. That’s it. This vision problem had been hanging around for too long. He’d have to ball up and make an appointment to see a neurologist.

“I call it the Greenie Meanie. Made it up myself. Like it?”

“Yeah.” He wheezed. It was stronger than jet fuel. Christ, this woman must have rum instead of blood in her veins. No wonder she was so well-preserved.

“You’re a good man, Jed West. And one hell of a hockey player. But I’m glad to hear you have an inkling about my Breezy, because let me tell you, she is extraordinary and it’s high time someone has the brains to notice.”





Chapter Nine




It was official. Her family had eaten Jed West. Not literally, after all, there he was standing by the BBQ looking all lovely and muscly, nothing like a gnawed pile of bones. But they’d devoured every second of his time at the party. She’d lost all control of him the second she’d entered the house and realized it would look bad if he stumbled on a photograph of her in face paint screaming at hockey games. So she’d let Granny Dee ferry him away for what was likely a grilling session under the subtext of playing a board game.

In the end, the damage wasn’t too bad. Her sleuthing unearthed only two photos on the fridge and she hid those under the fruit bowl, then upended a Hellions Angel group shot from last winter facedown on the mantel.

Each act of subterfuge hit her with a pang. This wasn’t being honest. But she didn’t have the right words to tell him the truth without looking like a crazy fan. She was a little ashamed of herself, and a lot afraid of his reaction.

Because what would he say if she confessed her obsession with his image, the sexy, bearded captain of the Hellions.

The version of Jed West that was growing more and more unrecognizable as she got to know Jed West the man.