Page 10 of Hot for the Hockey Player
Maverick snorted and filled his mouth with Caesar salad rather than answer.
“So, besides rehab with Maz, what are your plans on the island?”I asked him, needing to take a sip of my water and hoping that it cooled off the heat in my cheeks.
Maverick shrugged.“Explore?Rest.Read?”He snorted again.“My TBR pile is enormous.”
“I can recommend some books,” Laurel piped up.
“I doubt he wantsWuthering HeightsorPride and Prejudice,” Damon teased.
“Well, I had to readPride and Prejudicein high school.So I think I’m covered there.Thanks though, Laurel.”He smiled kindly at my daughter before fixing his gaze back to me.“Do you guys need a hand around here?”
“Winter is pretty slow for us,” I said cautiously.“Mostly just keeping the liquor stores supplied on the mainland and getting ready for the spring and summer.”
Maverick didn’t seem deterred at all.“Not even some painting?”
“You could come to the school and meet my friends,” Damon said.“And then come over every day after school to play video games with me.My friends don’t believe that I know Maverick Roy.They’re going to crap their pants when they find out you’re on the islandandthat I actually know you.”
“I’d rather not be the cause of a bunch of teenage boys losing their bowels, but sure, I can come to the school.Sign some autographs or whatever.”
Damon lit up even more before reaching for the salad bowl and using the tongs to heap his plate with Caesar salad.“This is going to be so awesome.”
“So awesome,” Maverick mimicked.His gaze met mine again, and that raking twinkle was back, forcing me to look away.
Something told me his presence here wasn’t going to be asawesomefor all of us.At least not my libido.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maverick
Hotdamn,Gabriellewaseven more gorgeous up close than through my concussed, blurry eyes as I was being wheeled off on a gurney.And just like I remembered, the woman could cook.
As I drove back to my cabin at the San Camanez Brewery, I was unable to stop thinking about her.
Of course, saying no wasn’t even an option when she asked me to come over for dinner, or when Damon practically begged me to hang out and play video games with him afterward.While it wasn’t exactly quality time with Gabrielle, she was puttering around.So I still got to see her.
Quality time with Gabrielle?What the fuck was I getting on about anyway?
I gave my head a thorough shake to dislodge some of those not-so-PG-13 thoughts I found myself having about my former host.
Gabrielle Campbell, as beautiful, smart, and sophisticated as she was, was off-limits.
She probably still saw me as the hormonal, creatine-obsessed teenager she agreed to house when I moved out West to join the Spokane Chiefs.
But just like I remembered, she was also … reserved.Perhaps even standoffish a bit.If I didn’t know her as well as I did, I would have thought she wasn’t happy to see me.But that was just the way she was.Closed off from over-the-top emotion, extremely matter-of-fact, and undeniably responsible.I bet the woman hadn’t thrown caution to the wind … ever.
And yet, I couldn’t think of a damned thing I’d change about her.To me, she was perfect.
The years had been more than kind to her, and even though I’m pretty sure she was forty—or maybe slightly over forty—the woman didn’t look a day over thirty.I caught myself more than once staring at her ass as she cleared the table.If I was a Catholic, I’d be finding the nearest confessional to disclose my impure thoughts to the good father.
Luckily, I wasn’t the religious type.So I’d take those thoughts into the shower with me later and deal with them the old-fashioned way.
She was a stellar mom too.Just like when I lived with them, Damon and Laurel were polite, kind, respectful, and while Laurel was mostly quiet and darted off to her room to read after dinner, she made a point of coming out of her little cave to say goodbye to me before I left.I could tell they gave Gabrielle a run for her money with their smarts though.Especially Laurel.She was quick as a whip for eleven.
I drove through the windy roads of the island, loving how dark it was, with nary a streetlamp anywhere to light the way.The sides of the pothole-riddled pavement were nothing but a wall of trees on either side.Occasionally, a hidden driveway would appear, only denoted by a small, round, red reflector where it met the road.Once in a while, there would be an address too, but not always.I’d already checked into my cabin.So when I reached the turnoff for the laneway onto the pub property, I slowed my roll.
It was only nine-thirty and I wasn’t ready to call it a night.If I was going to call this place home for the next few months, I needed to get to know the locals—and the local watering hole.
I normally didn’t drink much—or at all—during the season, as I prided myself on being in peak physical condition while playing.But if the good doctor said I needed to rest, then I was going to rest with a beer in my hand.
