Page 32 of Lock 'em Down

How does he do that? Why is he so distracting?

Leif Bang.

“Your last name is Bang?” I blurt out. “As in?—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he interrupts, his eyes dancing.

Stella rolls her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bang,” I stutter. Wince.

Leif laughs.

“Stella,” I amend.

Stella grins. “Don’t apologize, love. I know what a charmer Leif can be. I’ve been watching him get his way with the ladies for years now.”

Leif gapes at his mother for calling him out. I blush from her meaning but can’t help but laugh.

So I married a playboy.

Of course, I did. Leif is exactly my type. And yet, nothing like what I’m used to.

“I knew I knew you!” our server says, staring at Leif from the server station next to the bar. She’s pointing at him. “You’re a Bolts player! You got traded right before Christmas. Man, it was rough when y’all didn’t make the playoffs but y’all are gonna have a great season. Losing Hardt to San Jose was tough and then Daire retired.” She shakes her head. “But we’re really happy you’re here,” she adds although I don’t see this “we” she speaks of. And who the hell are these people?

My mind whirls. The Bolts…as in the Thunderbolts!

Realization dawns and I gawk at Leif.

“You’re a hockey player!” I hiss.

He grins. “I am.”

“I thought you were a surfer,” I growl, shoving my bangs out of my eyes. I look at Leif but—I don’t watch hockey. After Rhett stopped playing, my whole family kind of lost interest in the game. There’s no way I would have placed him. Still, it seems like a huge thing not to disclose before saying “I do.”

“I’m that too,” he says defensively.

Stella watches us with wonder in her eyes. She doesn’t look nearly as upset by our exchange as she should. Maybe because she doesn’t know that the other shoe is about to drop.

“Come on, your mom is waiting. And getting worried,” Stella continues, eyeing our empty shot glasses. “And clearly, there is a story that needs to be shared because you two”—she points between us—“know each other.”

“Intimately,” Leif mutters in response to the way his mother says know.

She doesn’t hear him, but I do. I narrow my eyes at him.

His grin widens and he slips his hand in mine. Again, his thumb brushes over my watchband, reminding me of the tattoo hiding underneath. My drawing. A rolling wave. About to land on my fucking head and drown us all.

“You could’ve told me,” I mutter.

“I could have,” he agrees but doesn’t offer an explanation as to why he wouldn’t share his profession—as a freaking hockey player—with me.

My mother’s pinched expression greets me as I plop down into the chair beside her. Oh no, can she smell the tequila on my breath?

“A shot?” she mutters.

Yep.

“My fault,” Leif says smoothly, giving my mother an irresistible smile.

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