Page 43 of Lock 'em Down

“It’s a tough lifestyle. Not for everyone,” Leif says. He pulls into a parking lot and cuts the engine. “You like margaritas?”

“You know I do.”

“Then you’ll like Alberto’s,” he promises.

I slide from his truck and follow him into the Tex Mex restaurant. The moment the door closes and the vibrant colors, warm atmosphere, and delicious scent of food welcomes us, I know Leif is right. I already like Alberto’s.

And I already trust Leif’s judgment. I guess my husband is a better fit than I originally thought.

The margaritas are a good call. They relax me, allowing me to speak my mind freely.

“You think it’s a red flag that we always need alcohol when we’re together?” I ask, holding up my empty margarita glass.

“Probably,” Leif agrees. At least he’s honest.

“Maybe our next date, we’ll stay sober,” I suggest.

“Done.” His smile widens.

“But tonight…” I trail off, taking a sip of my margarita. “I’ll keep the drinks coming.”

Leif snickers.

I don’t add that tonight, a part of me is hoping I end up in his bed again.

But wait, his mom is in town. Does that mean he should stay at my place?

Argh! What is wrong with me? I told Leif I’m not in love with him and don’t want to be a wife, yet…I desperately want to sleep with him again.

This is a confusing disaster in the making.

I suck on the straw to my empty margarita glass and wince when I inhale air.

Leif flags down our server for another round and pops a tortilla chip into his mouth. “You ready to start work on Monday?” He changes the subject.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I mean, it’s not my dream job or anything but it feels good to have a job that will pay the bills.”

He leans closer and I wince at how he could interpret that.

“Not that I need money or anything,” I continue. “I just want to be independent, you know? And I used most of my savings to pay for my move and the new car. Not that it’s new. It’s used. But?—”

“Cami.” Leif places a hand over mine. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m not thinking anything good or bad or judging anything you say. I just want to spend time with you. Get to know you.”

“I’m not good at dating,” I admit.

“I’m not good at relationships,” he shares. “But I want this one with you.”

How the hell does he always know what to say?

Our server appears with our food and fresh margaritas. I relax slightly. We dig into our entrees.

“Do you like living in Tennessee?” I ask.

He nods thoughtfully. “It wasn’t my first choice, but I like the Thunderbolts. My teammates are solid guys, and the management is one of the best I’ve ever experienced. Jeremiah Merrick?—”

“Isn’t he in the Hall of Fame?”

“See! You do know your hockey,” Leif beams.

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