Roman (Cold Fury Hockey #7)(52)
“You’ll just have to prove her wrong,” I tease.
“I don’t have to prove anything to her, Lexi,” he says. “Your opinion is the only one that matters.”
“I know,” I say. “And you’re good to go, because my opinion of you is quite high.”
That seems to get us past the awkwardness of discussing the rift between him and Gray, and he banters with me. “And why is your opinion of me so high?”
“Well,” I say with sly mischief in my voice. “You’re pretty amazing in bed. And you cook a damn fine meal. Plus…you’re really hot in your hockey uniform, so bonus points for that.”
“And that’s all you like me for?” he asks with a laugh.
“No,” I say gently. “Those are just the cream on top. I really like you because you’re a guy that got charmed by a girl who plays a ukulele in a coffee shop for tips and who is very happy with that existence. A lot of guys like you wouldn’t be so charmed.”
He’s silent for a moment, but then his voice is low, reflective, when he says, “Well, I like you too, Lex. Now I have to get going. Still have a few errands to run before I head to the airport.”
“Okay,” I say with a small measure of disappointment, because I believe I could happily talk to Roman on the phone all day and be damned with the fact I have to be at work in a few hours.
“It will be too late when we land, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” he says.
“If you have time,” I reply. “I know you’ve got a game and everything.”
“I’ll always have time for you, Lexi,” he says gruffly, his Czech accent seeming a bit heavier when he’s speaking from the heart.
“Same here. Have a great trip. I’ll miss you.”
“Miss you too,” he says softly, then he disconnects.
I tap my phone against my chin and my smile feels a million miles wide. I’ve never been this excited about the potential of a relationship before. Add it seems that my relationship with Gray has now achieved steady footing and I’m beyond ready to see where that goes.
My life is freaking fantastic right now.
Chapter 19
Brian
The doorbell rings and my nerves spring into overdrive. I’ve been pacing by the door for probably ten minutes, waiting for Georgia to arrive. I’d invited her over for dinner tonight, and now I’m wondering if that was the right thing to do.
We’ve gone out twice since our lunch last week when she confronted me in my office. We ended up uniting nicely to get to the bottom of Lexi’s issues, and I was so relieved to have done so, I impulsively invited her to dinner that night.
That went very well, and I found out that not only is Georgia gorgeous and clearly brilliant, she’s also an amazing conversationalist. She’s still nutty as hell and constantly provoking, but I’m finding that I like the way she tries to get under my skin.
One more lunch two days ago, also a fabulous time, and then I had a business trip that took me to New York for two days. I talked to her last night and invited her over to dinner, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now I’m not so sure, because inviting her to my house sends all kinds of messages that could become mixed up in that crazy head of hers.
But now it’s too late to worry about it, as she’s standing on the other side of my door. After taking a deep breath, looking down at my body and hoping she appreciates the fact I went with jeans and a casual sweater tonight, I swing the door open.
I take in everything about her in a quick sweep of my eyes, noting the gloriously long and curly hair, the multitude of jewelry, and the brightly patterned skirt that hangs loose and flowing down her legs with what looks like cowboy boots underneath. She’s topped it off with a dark brown leather blazer, an equally bright scarf around her neck, and a subtle whiff of perhaps vanilla and honey when she walks in.
“Jesus, Brian,” she says as she turns around in the grand foyer, taking it all in. “You live in a freaking palace.”
Hardly, I think to myself, but I watch her carefully. Her gaze goes to the curved floating staircase under which is a marble koi pond with a waterfall built into the underside of the stairs. She looks past that into the massive formal room with its red and gold carpet custom rug that holds couches, chairs, and chaises, along with tables and a grand piano. It could easily hold a hundred people and not be cramped. Finally, her gaze drifts across the cream marble flooring to the dining room to the right with a table that seats twenty and a chandelier hanging low over it that’s as big as a small car.
When she completes her circle and faces me, she cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what to make of this.”
“What do you mean?” I ask curiously. “Surely you get I’m rich, right?”
She snorts at me, drops her purse onto the round foyer table, and starts to take her leather jacket off. “Of course I knew you were rich. I just didn’t realize you lived in a freaking palace.”
“It’s hardly a palace,” I mutter as I hold my hand out for her jacket.
“It’s got to be at least ten thousand square feet,” she says in awe as she looks around again. “What could one man do with that much room?”
“It’s a little over sixteen thousand square feet,” I correct her as I take her by the elbow and start to steer her through the house. “And Gray did live here before she went off to college.”