Page 91 of Body Check

Only the fact that we caught Ginger creeping outside our door kept us from ordering in.

Not that I’m complaining.

The food, the ocean, even the nip in the air have made the evening out worth it.

If only Jackson would just—

“I’m old, Holls.”

Is he kidding me right now? Rolling my eyes, I tease, “You’re a real geriatric, all right.” At his mute silence, I raise a brow. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

Lips flatlining, he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, only to stop halfway and drop his hand to the table. “Thirty-four in hockey years might as well put me in the prehistoric category,” he mutters. His dark eyes narrow, but not on me—they lock on my hands, which are fiddling with the stem of my wineglass. “I gave up alcohol after we divorced. I had two important things in my life, and I’d just lost one.”

His gaze snaps up to meet mine, pinning me in place with the complete intensity that I see swirling in the brown depths. “There wasn’t a shot in hell that I’d lose hockey, too. Guys my age become victims to injuries,” he says thickly, like even the thought of turning out like any one of them has him up at night, “the career-ending kind, though.”

“I was going to say, you’ve had your own fair share of almost-career ending injuries.” I gesture to his reconstructed cheek bone, which Andre Beaumont broke some years back when he still played for the Detroit Red Wings.

My attempt to lighten the mood falls on deaf ears.

Jackson’s lips don’t turn up in a smile. “I never want the team I play for to think they could do better without me.” His bulky shoulders lift in a casual shrug. “I can’t stop what happens on the ice. On any day I could go out there and come wheeling back out on a stretcher. But I can keep myself healthy—that’s all in my power.”

“So, no alcohol.”

Now, his mouth curves ever-so-slightly, and my heart thrums in triple time at the sight. “No fast food either,” he corrects. “Although I can’t help but make an exception for Coke.”

I mock-smother my shock with a hand over my mouth. “How terrible for you. And here I was thinking about how many bags of chips I devour weekly. Here’s a clue—way too many.”

He’s all masculine confidence when he pats his flat stomach and rests an arm on the walled barrier that separates us from the craggy rocks ten or fifteen feet below the veranda. “This body’s a temple, sweetheart.”

Laughter sticks in my throat. “Oh, my God, you didnotjust say that.”

“What?” He holds out his arms, all the better for me to check him out, I’m sure. “These are the same arms that carried you over the Cliff Walk yesterday, when—”

“You nearly fed me to the seagulls by throwing me over the side?”

He slicks his thumb over his bottom lip, laughter finally easing his tense expression. “Better than the alternative, at least.”

“Which is?”

Elbows on the table, he leans forward. “Pigeons.”

I nearly cough on my own spit, he’s caught me so off-guard. “I won’t lie, I thought you were going to suggest alligators or, well, I don’t know. Something less . . . horrid.”

“Being thrown to the gators is less horrid?” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Tell me more.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“With lust.”

“With all that Coke you’re drinking.” I point at the offending drink. “Sugar’s going to your head.”

“What can I say?” he drawls, eyes bright with humor. “I like sweet things.”

At his wink, I bring the sleeve of my cardigan up to hide my growing grin. The soft fabric is warm against my face, and I burrow deeper in the cashmere. “You sure there’s no liquor in that drink of yours?” Raising a brow, I watch him steadily. “You’re acting . . . frisky.”

“Frisky, huh?” He laughs low and hard at that, and my entire body heats with appreciation. God, he’s so handsome. His blunt-tipped fingers wrap around his glass. “Tell me something that happened to you this year.” He pauses, rotating his wrist so that the soda swirls in the glass. “Something that made you want to pick up the phone and call me.”

I strive for a neutral expression despite the quickening of my heart. “You’re assuming that something actually happened.”

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