Roman (Cold Fury Hockey #7)(23)
“Seriously?” Gray jumps into the conversation. “Too old? You are not going there.”
“I’m sixty-one—” he starts to say, but she rolls right over him.
“You cycle over a hundred miles a week, you do strength training that’s on a par with some of the very athletes that you employ, and you still sport a damn six-pack, Dad. You should be dating because you are in your prime.”
“I’ve got gray hair,” Brian grumbles.
“Only at the temples,” I provide helpfully. “Which clearly labels you as a silver fox, not an old man.”
For the first time in the brief time I’ve known Brian Brannon, he actually glares at me, but I’m not taken aback. I’m actually happy I’m comfortable enough to rib him and he’s comfortable enough to be pissed about it.
Also bonus points that Gray and I are firmly united in this.
“So who is this Georgia?” Ryker asks with a smirk on his face, and I know to keep the conversation going, as he’s actually enjoying Brian’s discomfort.
Grounded in the knowledge that the spotlight is firmly off of me and my potential love life, I give them the brief rundown. “She’s really super cool. Like I said, forty-seven years old and totally gorgeous. Brian can attest to that,” I say with a wink his way, then barrel forward so he can’t deny it. “She’s originally from Georgia—which is why I guess her parents named her that. She opened up The Grind almost ten years ago. Has one son who’s twenty-five and lives on the West Coast, she’s never been married, and she’s completely crazy. In a fun sort of way, I mean.”
“Really?” Brian says dryly. “I found her to be a little rude.”
“She’s blunt,” I say, looking at him briefly before turning back to Ryker. “But she has the biggest heart in the world. And she likes to get under people’s skin, which is what I’m sure she was trying to do with you, Brian,” I say as I shoot a glance back at him. “I think that only means she really likes you.”
“Funny way of showing it,” he mutters, then adds petulantly, “She had me convinced Tink was a murderer.”
I burst out laughing, as do Gray and Ryker, and Brian shoots glares at all of us. Then he wipes away our amusement when he says, “That’s enough of this conversation. I won’t say I’m old, but I’m too set in my ways to date, and even if I did want to date, Georgia Mack would be the last person I’d ask out.”
Hmmmmm…he doth protest too much, methinks.
He’s so going to ask her out.
Chapter 9
Roman
I slip and slide my way across the snow-and-ice-covered sidewalk to the front door of The Grind. It’s close to 4 P.M. and I’m the only car parallel parked out front, but Glenwood Avenue is bumper to bumper, gridlocked traffic, for the “annual running of the southerners to take shelter during inclement weather” has begun.
While I wasn’t with the Cold Fury then, I’ve heard all about when Raleigh got hit with an epic snow and ice storm about nine years ago that started around midday. Although the Department of Transportation diligently salted the roads, the storm was such that it didn’t matter. Ice accumulated thickly and rapidly, and the entire city was gridlocked with a massive rush of people trying to get home. News reports had children stranded in schools, commuters taking up to twelve hours to drive five miles, and numerous wrecks, because let’s face it, it’s hard to drive on ice in the best of times, nearly impossible for people who have no clue how to do it.
After it started to snow and sleet about two hours ago, an alarming amount of ice collected on the trees, power lines, and roads. Since the city was still slightly traumatized by the great ice event of nine years ago, the Cold Fury cleared the staff and players from the arena and locked it down. A game is scheduled for tomorrow, which is still tentatively on, but that will depend on how hard we actually get hit.
This sucks in a major way, because I had a date set with Lexi for tonight. The plan was for me to pick her up here when she got off at six, but that is not going to happen with the way the weather is. The governor’s office has relayed to the news stations, which in turn have relayed to the masses, that everyone is encouraged to stay off the roads and inside. This means most businesses will be shut down, so no fancy dinner with Lexi.
Yet here I am at The Grind, because I’m worried about Lexi driving home.
She and I have texted several times over the last few days, and I was even compelled to call her after our game last night in New York. I knew it was late, but I also knew she’d be up, because I’d texted with her plenty of times in the late hours. During the phone call last night, I’d learned that she drives a very tiny car, which would surely cause massive injury and potentially death if she were to slide off the road or get hit by something bigger. So I decided to come here and rescue her with the intention of getting her home safely in my big Mercedes G550 and my own expert driving on icy roads.
The minute I pull the door open to The Grind, I can feel the emptiness before I even take note that there are no customers inside. It’s eerily quiet: no babble of people talking, no hiss of espresso machines, no cups rattling against tabletops.
I don’t see anyone, so I take a few steps toward the ordering counter, intent on calling out, when Lexi suddenly appears from a closed door behind the bakery cases.