Page 9 of Romancing the Grump
“They’re so fast,” I say before licking Dorito dust off my fingertips. “How do I watch them all?”
“You’ll never see everything,” Parker says. “But I promise it will get easier.” She points. “Okay, see the guy over on the right? That’s Logan. Watch him for a second.”
I watch as Logan glides across the ice with ease. He has the puck—I can see it, at least for now—but then he passes it to another player, and I lose it. I keep my eyes on Logan, watching wherehewatches, and soon, I spot the puck again, in front of a smaller guy who flies across the ice, pulling away from the rest of the players. He’s almost to Felix when another player cuts him off, bending low and checking him with his shoulder before spinning and ramming him into the wall, pinning him in place with his hockey stick.
I wince as they make contact, bracing myself for whatever happens next.
The two men scuffle a bit, then Logan skates over and pulls the bigger man off.
“What was that?” I ask, realizing almost too late that I’ve practically pulverized my sandwich, squeezing it in my hands.
“Um, that was Nathan bodychecking Dominik,” Parker says, “then pinning him against the boards.”
“Is that legal?”
“The bodychecking was fine. That’s just a move to knock someone away from the puck, though it’s definitely designed to intimidate. But that last part—he’d be in the penalty box for that.” She shoots me a knowing look. “Something tells me Nathan really didn’t like Dominik’s comment about you in our meeting earlier this week.”
A flush of heat spreads across my chest. I appreciated Nathan shutting Dominik down—Nathan’s intimidation factor is honestly mind-boggling—but I made a point offinding Dominik at the end of the day anyway, telling him in no uncertain terms that he would respect me. I looked him up after the meeting, and Dominik is barely out of high school. I’m sure he was just being a stupid kid, but after the way things ended at my last job, I’m not about to excuse his bad behavior.
If he can’t behave, I’ll report him every time he opens his mouth. When I told him as much, his cheeks flushed red before he fumbled through a “Yes, ma’am, I understand,” then he hurried off to the parking lot with his tail between his legs.
I have to wonder if Nathan’s method of handling things will prove more effective.
“Had you met Nathan before you started working here?” Parker asks. “It seems like there might be some history there.”
“No history,” I say. “I have met him, but only once. We talked for maybe twenty minutes? That was it.”
Parker’s eyes go wide. “Really? Twenty minutes?”
“MostlyItalked for twenty minutes.”
She chuckles. “That sounds more like the Nathan I know. He’s a great guy. Much more of a gentle giant than hockey fans like to think. He’s tough on the ice, an enforcer, but I’ve never seen him throw a punchoffthe ice.”
“An enforcer. Is that a position?”
“Sort of?” Parker says. “It’s not an official thing. But when the opposing team plays dirty, he’s usually the guy who steps in and…handles it. The guys on the team call him Bruiser.”
“So basically, he fights a lot?”
“That’s just it,” Parker says. “Only if he has to. He doesn’t instigate, he responds. And he’s more level-headed than a lot of guys who fill the same role.”
My eyes follow Nathan—now that Parker pointed himout, it’s easier to recognize him under the bulky pads and helmet—as he breaks away from another player and races across the ice. Parker grabs her phone, starting a video just as he deflects around another player, circles the goal, then sends the puck over Felix’s shoulder and into the net.
“Dang,” Parker says under her breath.
I lean forward, shifting to the edge of my seat.
Down on the ice, the player I’m ninety-nine percent sure is Nathan slows the tiniest bit and…looks at me.
But that’s dumb. Why would he look at me? He doesn’t even know I’m up here.
Still, I can’t keep myself from asking, “Um, did he just look up here?”
I glance at Parker who looks like she’s fighting an enormous grin. “He totally just looked up here. Also significant: Nathan is a defender. That kind of hotshot scoring move isn’t exactly his M.O.”
“Which means what?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Which means I think he was trying to impress someone.”
