Icing (Aces Hockey #1)(65)

“Fuck! Why didn’t you call me?”

“Uh…” She didn’t know what to say to that. She was used to being on her own, not relying on anyone else. She’d never even considered asking him to come rescue her. “I was fine.”

“But you missed your interview!” He slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Are they going to reschedule it?”

“Probably not.”

“Fuck!”

Eek, he was pissed. She licked her lips.

“I texted you! I was sitting at home doing nothing. Why wouldn’t you have told me?”

Now she was getting annoyed. “Why would I tell you? I’m a big girl, I can look after myself. I don’t need to call for help every time some little thing goes wrong.”

He stared at her, his eyes dark and narrowed.

—

Duncan’s blood pulsed hot in his veins. What the fucking fuck? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why the hell hadn’t she called him?

“What are you so pissed off about?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m the one who missed my interview. And who now has no car.”

Yeah, that was a good question. Why was he so pissed off? Not that he was all that fond of examining his feelings, but on some level he recognized what he was really feeling was hurt. He liked Amber a lot. He thought they had something good happening, despite the hesitation on both their parts at first. He wanted to be there for her. He wanted to look after her. The fact that she didn’t even think of calling him when she had a problem…kinda felt like a slap in the face.

“Gah.” He spluttered in frustration. He turned and stared straight ahead out the windshield. “I’m mad because I could’ve helped you, if you hadn’t been so damn stubborn and independent and called me. I was sitting at home doing nothing and could easily have come picked you up.”

“I am not stubborn! And for your information, independence is a good trait! I am not going to be the kind of helpless little woman who can’t do anything without the help of a man. I’ll look after myself, thank you very damn much.”

He frowned at her. “Jesus, Amber. There’s nothing wrong with asking a friend for help when you have a problem.”

She stared at him, apparently not grasping this concept.

“Christ.” He laid his arm on top of the steering wheel and looked ahead. He sucked in a breath and let it out. “Okay, let’s go for dinner.”

“I want to go home.”

He turned his head again to give her a look. “What?”

She frowned, now hugging her purse. “I want to go home. You’re mad. I don’t want to go out for dinner if you’re mad.”

His eyebrows flew up. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“How can you not be mad that fast?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I get mad, I get over it. I’m hungry. Let’s go.” He put the truck in gear and pulled out.

“You were mad two minutes ago!”

“Are you trying to make me mad again?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, no. I’m not like that.”

“Good. ’Cause I fuckin’ hate it when women play mind games.”

She was silent for about three minutes, and then bent her head. “I don’t play games.”

She wasn’t playing games, but there was something going on with her and he would find out what it was. He drove fast to Fernando’s. His usual parking luck wasn’t with him and he circled the restaurant a couple of times before he pulled up in front. “You go in. I’ll find somewhere to park and be there in a few.”

She didn’t move. “I can…”

He lifted his chin and fixed his eyes on her. “Go in.”

Still she hesitated, then pulled the door latch and jumped out of the truck. He watched her enter the restaurant before pulling away. He found a spot a couple of blocks up, parked, and jogged back to the restaurant. The snow had stopped falling and the night air was crisp, his breath creating puffs of white in front of his face.

Inside, he found Amber leaning against the wall near the hostess stand, looking grumpy. But damn cute. One corner of his mouth kicked up as he walked toward her. He set both hands on the wall behind her head, leaned in, and touched his lips to hers.

She did a face plant into his chest and his smile widened. He slid a hand up to the back of her neck and held her there against him.

“Amber, party of two.”

They turned to the hostess holding a couple of menus and separated to follow her to their table. The restaurant was small, with an industrial feel to the interior—brick walls, exposed wood beams, wood floors, and stainless-steel tables and chairs. In the summer they had a huge outdoor patio where he and the guys had celebrated their Stanley Cup win two years ago with copious amounts of Don Fulano Añejo tequila.