Alex (Cold Fury Hockey #1)(41)

"I've never given much of a fuck about labels and lines, Sutton. I do what I want, and I very much want to see you on a personal level. If you have qualms about crossing a line that's important to you, I respect that and I won't try to talk you out of it."



       
         
       
        

She glances back down at the table for just a moment, then her eyes come back up and look at me with a hint of mischief. "What if I want you to talk me out of it?"

My lips quirk upward while my heart trips end over end. "Depends. How much convincing do you think you'll need?"

Sutton brings her index finger up and taps it against her lips while considering my question. "Hmmm. I'm pretty torn up about this. It might take a good effort on your part."

She's teasing the fuck out of me and damn if it doesn't feel good. If she's expecting me to come back at her with some teasing of my own, she needs a quick lesson in the fact that Alex Crossman usually goes in for the kill pretty quickly.

Standing up from the booth, a quick step puts me over on her side. With no hesitation I bend over and slip my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her up slightly toward me. A tiny gasp of surprise comes out of her mouth but I see her eyes fill with challenge.

Game on.

I angle my head in decisively and bring my mouth to hers. My kiss is confidently persuasive and she opens up to me. I don't plunder her invitation though, giving her just a moment where our lips touch, move against each other's in a whisper, then I pull back and release her.

Standing up, I look down at her and say, "Convinced?"

She nods back at me, her fingertips coming up to lightly touch at her lips, and I swear I can almost feel the touch against my own.

Moving back to my seat, I place my napkin back on my lap and ask again, "So will you go out with me tonight?"

She smiles at me. "Yes, I'd love to."

"Great-" I start to say, but then she cuts me off with a slap of her palm to her forehead.

"Shit, wait. I can't. I have plans already."

My hackles immediately rise up high, because I assume it's a date she has planned. My anger builds quickly but before I can say something, she says, "Unless … you'd want to come with me?"

Blinking at her a few times so I make sure I understand what she's saying, I ask, "Where would that be?"

"To my parents' house. Family dinner."

My immediate instinct is to say no and several reasons filter through my head. First, I want Sutton all to myself. I don't want to share her right now. Second, seems kind of lame to meet her parents for our first date-and this could be our only date for all I know-and finally, did I mention I want Sutton all to myself?

Then I remember that I'm leaving tomorrow for an extended away-game schedule and won't be back for another five days. Suddenly I realize I'll take Sutton any way I can get her. "Okay. I'm in." 

"Really?" she asks, looking at me skeptically.

"Yeah, why not?"

"It's just … seems kind of lame, going to my parents' house for a first date."

"Thought the same thing when you suggested it."

"Painfully honest, right?"

Grinning at her, I nod. "Yup. But I realized I'd just like to spend time with you, and if your parents are half as cool as you, I'm thinking this will be fun."

"They're great. You'll love them. My mom and Jim-Dad have achieved sainthood already in my book."

"Jim-Dad?" I ask with a laugh.

"He's my stepdad. He's raised me since I was about eight."

"What about your real dad?"

"Jim-Dad is my real dad," she says, not with any censure but with genuine warmth and amusement. "Now, if you're talking about the sperm donor who is my birth father-well, he's floating around Raleigh somewhere. He flits in and out of my life on occasion, depending on whether he's clean or not."

My mouth drops open and I stare at her in disbelief over what I think she just implied, and the way she said it with full acceptance and not an ounce of bitterness. "Your dad is a … ?"

"Drug addict? Yup. He's definitely not father of the year, but I try to support him as best I can."

"And by support you mean … ?"

"Not financial. I mean I try to give him encouragement and emotional support, but it's hard when I've watched him yo-yo back and forth."

I'm quiet for a moment, comparing her revelation to thoughts of my own father, who battles with alcohol. No, that's not quite right. He doesn't battle. That would imply he's tried to quit at some point, but he never has to my knowledge. He has succumbed, nothing more.