The Deal(52)

“Your life? Whoa. You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself, Garrett.”

“You want to talk about pressure?” Bitterness colors my tone. “Pressure is being seven years old and forced to go on a high-protein diet to promote growth. Pressure is being woken up at the crack of dawn six days a week to skate and run drills while your father blows a whistle in your face for two hours. Pressure is being told that if you fail, you’ll never be a real man.”

Her face goes stricken. “Shit.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” I try to push the memories away, but they keep flashing through my mind, tightening my throat. “Trust me, the pressure I put on myself is nothing compared to what I had to deal with growing up.”

She narrows her eyes. “You told me you love hockey.”

“I do love it.” My voice goes hoarse. “When I’m on the ice, it’s the only time I feel…alive, I guess. And believe me, I’m going to work my ass off to get to where I want to be. I…f*ck, I can’t fail.”

“What happens if you do?” she counters. “What’s your backup plan?”

I frown. “I don’t have one.”

“Everyone needs a Plan B,” Hannah insists. “What if you get injured and can’t play anymore?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d be a coach. Or maybe a sportscaster.”

“See, you do have a plan, then.”

“I guess so.” I eye her curiously. “What’s your Plan B? If you don’t make it as a singer?”

“Honestly, sometimes I don’t know if I even want to be a singer. I mean, I love it, I really do, but doing it professionally is a whole other story. I’m not crazy about the idea of living out of a suitcase or spending all my time on a tour bus. And yeah, I like singing in front of an audience, but I’m not sure I want to be on stage in front of thousands of people on a nightly basis.” She shrugs, looking thoughtful. “Sometimes I think I’d rather be a songwriter. I enjoy composing music, so I wouldn’t mind working behind the scenes and letting someone else do the whole star thing. If that doesn’t work out, I could go into teaching.” She gives a self-deprecating smile. “And if that fails, I could always try my hand at stripping.”

I sweep my gaze up and down her body, making a big show out of licking my lips. “Well, you’ve definitely got the tits for it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Pervert.”

“Hey, I’m just stating a fact. Your tits are great. I don’t know why you don’t flaunt ’em more. You know, throw a few low-cut tops into your wardrobe rotation.”

A pink blush blooms in her cheeks. I love how quickly she goes from serious and sassy to shy and innocent.

“By the way, you can’t do that on Saturday,” I inform her.

“What, strip?” she says mockingly.

“No, blush like a tomato every time I make a lewd comment.”

Hannah arches one brow. “How many lewd comments do you plan on making?”

I grin. “Depends on how much I have to drink.”

She lets out an exasperated breath, and a strand of dark hair comes loose from her ponytail and falls onto her forehead. Without thinking, I reach out and tuck the errant strand behind her ear.

The instantaneous tensing of her shoulders brings a frown to my lips. “You can’t do that either. Freeze up when I touch you.”

Alarm flits through her eyes. “Why would you touch me?”

“Because I’m supposed to be your date. Have you met me? I’m a handsy guy.”

“Well, you can keep your hands to yourself on Saturday,” she says primly.

“Good plan. And then Loverboy will think we’re just friends. Or enemies, depending on how jumpy you get.”

She bites her lip, and her visible agitation only makes me tease her harder. “Oh, and I might kiss you, too.”

Now she glares at me. “No way.”

“Do you or do you not want Kohl to think you’re into me? Because if you do, you’ll need to at least try to act like it.”

“That’s going to be tough,” she says with a smirk.

“Bullshit. You like me lots.”

She snorts.

“I’m totally digging that snorting thing you do,” I tell her frankly. “It’s kind of a turn on.”

“Would you quit it?” she grumbles. “He’s not in the room right now. You can save the flirting for Saturday.”