Page 13 of Matched with the Player

“I – um. They do. But I’d better not.” In a conversation full of surprises, she realized she’d had no problem telling him “no.” Maybe because she knew it wouldn’t disappoint him, unlike the guys who tried hard to catch her attention.

“Right. Probably best not to take a ride from a stranger. But I’m sure hotel security has a car. They can help you find your van.” He opened the door easily and shoved the poster he’d been carrying inside. “I think you’re going to need them because there are no other silver Caravans nearby.”

“How do you know?” She craned her neck again.

“I make it a point to know my surroundings at all times.” He extended his hand. “Isaac Reynolds.”

“Stacy Goodwell.” Tentatively, she accepted the handshake. “I’m sorry if I’ve scratched your paint.”

Warm strength surrounded her fingers as he gave her hand a friendly squeeze. Gentle, but competent. She couldn’t remember caring one way or another about a handshake before, but she liked the feel of Isaac.

Steady. Non-threatening.

“I have touch-up paint at home. I’m sure it will be fine.” He released her fingers long before anyone could ever accuse him of flirting with her.

Maybe that was the problem. She didn’t know quite how to relate to a man who showed utterly no interest in her. She was confused. And, perhaps, charmed.

“On second thought.” Why should she fear the man who was in a hurry to go home and put touch-up paint on his van? She had mace in her purse if her instincts were wrong. “I’d actually appreciate some help finding my vehicle. Would you mind walking down the row with me?”

As flirtation attempts went, it wasn’t much. But she didn’t have any experience on this side of the equation. She’d been pursued so often, she’d never had to do the chasing.

And considering a pressing need to figure out her love life before her father contracted away her rights to it, Stacy liked the idea of making a move on Isaac Reynolds.

For a moment, he studied her with what almost looked like suspicion in his eyes. But that was crazy. Suspicious of what?

“I can do that,” he agreed finally, nodding.

She must have imagined his hesitation.

Following him with a new spring in her step, she could almost forget about the relentless clench of her shoes on her heels. Until a stone on the pavement made her tweak her ankle for the second time that night.

Sending her right into Isaac’s arms.

* * *

“I’m sure you’re not a sell-out.” Kyle regretted his earlier accusation after seeing how much it affected Marissa. “I have a bad habit of saying whatever comes to mind without thinking it through.”

They drove around his Chestnut Hill neighborhood since it was one of the few areas of Philadelphia that he knew. He’d only been in town for a few weeks and with his team in the playoff hunt, hockey had consumed every second of his time. But Marissa didn’t seem to care where they were going, her eyes fixed out the front windshield, her gaze a million miles away.

“Being spontaneous doesn’t make it false.” She tugged off her glasses and folded them up, tucking them into a small evening bag. At the same time, she pulled her phone from her purse and opened a screen that showed a news article. “And I knew about your tendency to speak your mind after reading up about you. But I thought that would give you and Stacy a common trait. I realize now that she tends to comment on more irreverent topics that feel like they come out of nowhere while you – cut to the chase.”

“Sounds like there would be a huge lack of impulse control in a relationship like that,” he observed, turning down the street where Axel had bought a house. “We’d probably kill each other in a week.”

She made a low sound that might have been a laugh.

“So tell me what you think would make for a good relationship for you. I’m not asking to try and find you a date. I’d just like to know how I went wrong since I’m usually good at this kind of thing.” She trailed her finger over the phone screen, and he recognized a recent headline from the local sports section about Kyle’s first few weeks as a Phantom. “All I know for sure is that you’re great at scoring shootout goals.”

He tucked into a dead end street with an outlet onto a vast park. Technically, it was probably closed, but houses backed up to the public property for miles, and it wasn’t fenced. He parked there and cut the headlights. Surrounded by maple trees full of new spring leaves, he cracked the window to catch the breeze.

“Well, if you’ve read that, you know the most important stuff.” Glancing at the story she referenced, he imagined her reading it over before attending the event tonight. He enjoyed the idea of her checking him out, even if it had been for business. “I grew up on Cape Cod. I have five brothers, four by blood and one because I picked him.”

Even Kyle didn’t know everything about Axel’s past, but he’d urged his family to foster him in the U.S. because the guy had gotten into some kind of trouble with a bad crowd while he was in high school. But he was aces on the ice.

“How does one go about picking a brother?” She swiveled toward him in her seat.

“Axel and I played on an international junior team together. From day one, he told me that if I scored the goals, he’d make sure no one got in my way.”

“He sounds sure of himself.”

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