Kiss and Don't Tell(13)
“You’re not shy right now.”
“Because I’m in my element and I don’t have to look you in the eyes. Trust me, if we were face to face, this would be a different interaction.”
She pauses in the road, and I stop as well. I lift my eyes to her deep blue ones and I feel a bolt of electricity zap between us. Fuck, I know this girl from somewhere, I really do, but just from our brief conversation, I’m getting the feeling that she doesn’t know me at all. There’s not even an ounce of recognition in her eyes. So, am I fucking crazy? Am I losing my mind? I’m not one of those people who believes in multiple lives, but . . . did I know her in another life?
Humor in her eyes, she asks, “Are you implying that I intimidate you?”
I grip the back of my neck. “You know, just never been too good with girls, is all, let alone pretty ones.” It’s not a line; there’s no humor in my voice. It’s just plain facts. I’ve never been the guy who prowls around with girls fainting at his feet.
Her cheeks blush.
Hell, my cheeks blush.
And then she starts walking forward again. “You know, I was right.”
“About what?” I ask.
“You are a player, and you just don’t know it.”
Chapter Four
WINNIE
Three things.
One—Katherine would be LIVID if she knew I was walking into the woods with a stranger right now. A stranger who insisted on carrying my only source of protection, my backpack. I can practically hear her nagging voice in the back of my head, voicing her opinion on what an absolute careless idiot I’m being.
Two—Max would be squealing his handsome head off, telling me to “get it” and “make your move” if he knew I was on a morning jaunt through the woods with a hunky man. He’d absolutely die if he knew I was hanging out with a bunch of professional hockey players, let alone allowing one to join me on a walk and carry my backpack for me.
Three—Pacey Lawes thinks I’m pretty. Not that I know what kind of weight his name carries, because I know nothing about hockey, but nonetheless, this attractive and mysterious but kind man with eyes that intimidate me thinks I’m pretty.
Vain? Maybe.
But it’s never a bad thing when someone calls you pretty. Nothing like a boost to the ego to make you feel better. Confident. Makes a girl shake her hips a little harder, puff out her chest, and lift that chin.
“So, are you from Seattle?” Pacey asks.
And then there’s that—his memory. For a guy who didn’t seem as if he was paying much attention to the events last night, he sure does seem to remember a lot. And in my experience, that doesn’t happen very often. Being that I was ignored heavily in my last relationship, being noticed now feels like a world of difference.
“Yeah. Born and raised. Right in the city, too. Love it there. What about you?”
“Small town in Minnesota,” he answers.
I nod. “That makes sense, since you play hockey. But you don’t have an accent.”
He chuckles and it’s a deep, hearty sound. It’s nice. “Yeah, it comes out every once in a while. But in Minnesota where I’m from, you either play hockey or you drink beer. When you’re old enough, you do both.”
“Drunken hockey—that must be fun.”
“Yeah, I’ve received a few good shots to the moneymaker from some drunken hockey games.”
“You mean punches?” I ask.
“Yup.” He scrubs his hand over his jaw, and I notice how the scruff that lines his handsome face is just a little thicker than last night—not that I was paying close attention or anything.
“Oh God, but aren’t you a goalie? I don’t know much about hockey, but I wouldn’t think goalies get in many fights.”
“We don’t normally get in fights, but on occasion, we get in the mix. But when I’m playing with the boys back home, there aren’t any goalies, which means everyone is fair game.”
I shake my head. “I could never imagine getting punched in the face. Does it hurt?”
He laughs. “Well, it doesn’t feel good. But I guess in the moment, you don’t really think about it. Especially in a game, when the adrenaline is pumping, you kind of go numb and nothing fazes you. And then of course when you’re drunk, you’re not really feeling anything in that moment either.”
“Other than good, right?”
“Right.”
Looking up ahead, Pacey says, “Okay, we’re going to come to an intersection. Were you coming from the highway?”
“Yes, but then I took a wrong turn somewhere and thought I would find a way to turn around, but never did with all the rain.”
He nods and chuckles. “I was going to ask, how the hell did you get up here if you were planning on heading into town?”
“I hate to admit it, but driving and directions aren’t my strong suit.”
“Got it. If you were coming from the highway, that means you came from the west. This way.” He nods and I fall behind him for a few steps. And that’s when I catch sight of his solid calves. Holy cow, those are muscular. As a matter of fact, his entire leg looks as though it’s made from stone. Solid, rippling with strength. My oh my. I guess that’s what happens when you skate on ice for a living.