Edge(17)

“I’d rather take you up on dinner than go out,” I said.

“Tonight?” She turned to me, surprised.

“We’ll call it a practice dinner, maybe. If you want to get dressed up and go out again, that’d be good.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap. “I can’t do anything that even looks like a date with a player. Not that you’re asking for a date, I know.”

“We’ll keep it on the low, okay? I’d really like to talk to you some more.”

“Okay.” Her voice was reluctant, but her expression was warm and eager. I was used to being able to figure women out pretty quick, but I hadn’t been able to do that with Dell. She was interested in me, I could tell that. But she held tight to her commitment to the team and to being a good mom. I admired that.

A battle was starting to rage inside me. I wanted to get closer to her, but was that best for her? Everything about her was uncharted territory for me – from not being able to touch her to considering whether I was good for her. But when I was near her, all bets were off. Even if it was just conversation, I wanted to be with her more than anyone tonight.

***



Dell





There wasn’t much chance we’d run into anyone from the team at the little Italian place on the outskirts of the city that Luke drove us to. We’d even dropped my car off at my place so no one would see it in the parking lot and wonder who I was with.

He slipped the waiter a bill and asked for a private table. After a glance at the denomination in his palm, the waiter led us to a back room with the lights off. He flipped a switch and a dim glow filled the small room.

“Will this be okay, sir?”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

The last time I’d been out for dinner with a man had been … college, maybe? The flutter in my stomach was probably just from being out of practice.

I glanced down at my team sweatshirt and yoga pants. “I feel underdressed.”

Luke took off his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair. “I’d be in jeans if I could.”

“You look good in suits.”

“What about the rest of the time?”

I shrugged. “You’re okay, I guess.”

“Not your type?” His voice was light and playful.

“You’re a hockey player.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, glancing up at me. “Don’t hold that against me.”

I busied myself lining up my silverware. “Okay, you’re really hot. You already know that, though.”

He shook his head. “Women don’t go after pro athletes for our looks. It’s like with rock stars – some of ’em are ugly as fuck, but they’ve got their pick of women.”

I laughed at his assessment. “Trust me, jersey chasers are after the whole package with you – looks included.”

“Already talking about my package? I like a woman who gets right to the point.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure your package gets plenty of attention already.”

“Not lately.”

The waiter returned for our drink order. I was sticking to water since I didn’t drink much, and Luke asked for a dark beer. When the waiter left, Luke turned to me, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You’re quite the motivator, Miss Price,” he said.

I shrugged and smiled. “You’re a great player. You won’t have any trouble scoring on the team we’re playing tomorrow night.”

He leaned back in his seat, spreading his knees and relaxing. “I respond well to incentive – as you found out tonight. What can I get for scoring tomorrow night?”

The innuendo in his tone sent a warm rush through my body. “I … uh, I don’t know. What do you want?”

“So many answers to that question,” he said softly, his blue eyes locked on mine. “But since I have to keep my hands to myself … I’d love for you to tell me one of your fantasies.”

“Fantasies? I’m not very exciting.”

“You’re plenty exciting. I just want you to tell me what you like.”

What I liked? I didn’t even know. It had been so long, and wasn’t sex just sex, anyway?

“Okay,” I agreed. “Score and I’ll … try.”

The waiter returned with our drinks and we ordered. Luke was having a full-size salad, lasagna and a sandwich. The guys always worked up a huge appetite playing a game.

As much as I wanted to talk fantasies with him, I had a nagging feeling he was down. The waiter had barely gotten out of the room and Luke’s beer bottle was nearly half empty.

“So where will you go from here with your dad?” I asked.

Luke scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed deeply. “I can’t do it anymore. He stresses me out. If I fuck up in a game, I’m barely even dressed in the locker room and my phone’s ringing. He’s shitfaced every time and he bitches me out and tells me I’m gonna get cut from the team.”