Page 47 of Skating and Fake Dating
My stomach pinches. “I was thinking of grabbing breakfast. There’s a place in town that makes crepes, as well as the diner that offers pancakes that you’ll crave for the rest of your life.”
He takes a swig of water, his throat working as he swallows.
“Pancakes I’ll crave for the rest of my life? That’s a bold claim.” He sounds downright skeptical.
I busy myself with the coffee maker, needing something to do with my hands because he’s sure to want to wash himself of the mess I’ve made of his weekend. “It’s true.”
He crosses the room, coming closer. I catch his scent which is still fresh and masculine, despite the morning run. By the way my pulse races, I reconsider the coffee—no need to get more jittery.
Voice low, smooth, and smoldering with that Southern accent, he says, “Bold claims require a thorough investigation.”
I look up to find him watching me, something playful in his expression.
I tuck my hair behind my ear again. “Unless you need to get back on your nutrition program for the team.”
“I think I can afford one more cheat meal.” He looks me over like I’m hard to resist.
Or it could be that he’s thinking about pancakes.
Belatedly realizing that having breakfast with a player isn’t inmy job description and a breakfast date wasn’t part of the fake relationship arrangement, I say, “Besides, you need proper fuel before facing the lion’s den.”
“I thought the Ice Breakers’ team mascot was Otto the otter.”
“The otter’s den doesn’t sound as powerful or intimidating.”
“Should I be intimidated?”
Shifting from foot to foot, I say, “No, of course not, but aren’t you a little nervous that everyone is going to be sizing you up?”
Leaning against the counter, close enough that I can see the distinct flecks of blue and green in his eyes, Carson says, “We’re all new, so we’ll all be sizing each other up.”
His gaze trails from my eyes, toward my mouth, and all the way down to my bare feet.
His smile deepens as if he likes what he sees. “What color is that?”
For once, my toenail polish isn’t chipped. “Midnight Apple, I think it’s called.”
“Or dangerous thoughts,” he says in such a low rumble that I almost don’t hear.
But my body registers how he steps closer, the warmth of him tangible in a way that makes my stomach fluttery.
I notice a small scar above his left eyebrow and then skim the sweep of his lashes, the slope of his nose, and come to a stop at his lips.
The moment stretches between us, charged with something I’m not ready to name. Then his phone beeps, breaking the spell.
“That’ll be the team manager,” he says, checking the screen. “I’d better take this call and then shower. I’ll be quick. I want those pancakes you promised.”
“Sounds good,” I say, suddenly looking forward to this day more than I should.
He steps outside while I sit down with a coffee and remind myself that, technically, I’m working from home. Everything that’s happened between us—the little lingering moments, theraw discussions about our previous relationships, the fake one we walked backward into—can’t mean anything.
Carson doesn’t believe in love.
He is my client and I’m his PAL.
Whatever sparks I thought existed last night were in my imagination.
CHAPTER 20
