Page 8 of Hat Trick Heart

My heart jumps and I groan under my breath. This guy just thinks of me as some kind of project. There’s no way a girl like me gets a guy that looks like him. It’s insane.

But there’s also the fact that this guy sticks his foot in his mouth every other word to me. I can’t imagine what he’s like giving an interview! His coaches must try to hide him whenever there are reporters anywhere around.

He’s a mess. An adorable, grouchy, sexy as heck mess. I don’t even know what to think about him.

We walk in silence for a while and then he kicks a rock and glares at me. “You’re a very quiet woman.”

I giggle. “I’m a librarian. Perhaps you haven’t heard but it kinda goes with the territory.”

His mouth drops open and I see his eyes lock on my mouth. My belly flips and I suck in a breath, not sure that I really saw in his green eyes what I thought I saw.

“I guess that’s true. I’ve never been a library or book kind of guy. I was always busy with practice and working out.”

I nod my head. “I get it. My thing was always books. If I wasn’t at school or doing homework, I was always sitting reading. I used to hide in the corners of the classroom when everybody went out to play on the playground. I’d sit there with a book and be happy as heck.” I glare at the ground and kick a bunch of rocks out of my way. “Until the teacher found me and made me go out to play because ‘it was good for me’,” I air quote the heck out of that saying.

“So what did you do then?”

I smile up at him. “I took my book outside and hid out in the big tires that they had to play with on the playground. Just hid in one and then was perfectly happy reading my book.”

He chuckles and stares at me. “Of course you did. I bet you were a stubborn little girl!”

I cock my head, my smile growing. “Ask my parents. I definitely gave them a run for their money. Even though most of the time I was lost in a book.”

“So becoming a librarian was your life’s dream?”

I sigh and shake my head. “Nope. I wanted to be an author. But my dad told me that that wasn’t a real job and I’d never make money at it so the best thing to do was become a librarian. Close enough.”

He stops and holds his hand out, grasping my arm. “I’m sorry they did that to you. They should have supported you if that’s what you wanted to do with your life.”

My heart jumps at the sweet, sad, soft look in his eyes. “It’s okay,” I say breathlessly. “I like my job.”

“Like… not love. You should love what you do.”

“Do you love hockey?”

He grins mischievously. “What’s not to love? I get to take all my aggression out on guys who do the same thing I do. We all love being out there and just letting the sport take us into this place that is hard to describe. It’s gritty and dangerous and harsh. But it’s also so purely freeing that I love it. There’s no faking it in hockey. If you suck, you won’t get very damn far. You’ve got to be on your A-game and know what the hell you’re doing or you’re gonna get hurt. Most people don’t make it very far if they’re not good.”

I stare at him, my heart locked in my throat. He looks so dang happy when he describes the sport he obviously loves. It changes the harsh lines of his face and he’s freaking beautiful to look at. He almost glows. Like a man in love.

“Are you good?” I ask breathlessly.

His head drops and once again he gets this heated look in his eyes that makes my belly clench and my whole body tighten, burning with a fire that I’ve never felt before.

He stares at my mouth so hard that it feels like he actually touches me. I can feel the soft pressure of his mouth on mine and the tingles in my belly wash over my whole body.

“I’m good, Angel. Good but bad.”

My eyes clear and I flush when I realize what we’re talking about.

I stop moving when I look up and realize that we’re standing in front of my little house. “This is me.”

He glares at the house like it personally offended him. “Oh. Ummm. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” I say quietly. I know dang well this guy isn’t gonna come looking for me so the odds of me seeing him again are astronomical.

He backs away, his hands in his pockets and his eyes locked on my face. “Thanks for letting me walk you home.”

I laugh and smile at him. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that? You’re the one that has to walk all the way back to the bar.”

---