Page 12 of The Pucker and the Princess
He waits until we’re heading out of the parking garage before he returns with a question of his own. “I know you’re new to the building, but are you new to the area in general?”
Nodding, I signal a turn and answer while watching cross traffic. “Yes. Both. I just got the promotion to head of sales for the northwest region last month, so I had to move.”
He lets out an appreciative whistle. “Congratulations on the promotion.”
A smile flits across my face. “Thank you. I worked really hard for it.”
“Where did you move here from?” he asks next.
“Dallas.” I bobble my head from side to side. “Well, I grew up in Denton, which is on the northern edge of the Metroplex.”
“Metroplex?” he asks, sounding mystified.
I grin. “The Dallas-Fort Worth area. That’s what it’s called. The Metroplex.”
“Sounds like a giant movie theater,” he mutters, and I laugh.
“What about you?” I ask. “You from around here?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I moved here a few years ago after they started up the new team here. Before that I was in Toronto, but I grew up in Michigan.”
Casting a glance his way, I shake my head. “I see I’m not the only one a long way from home.”
He grins. “I feel like I’ve probably been away from home longer, though. I bounced around the northern US and Canada playing junior hockey from the time I was sixteen until I got drafted to the NHL and called up to my first team. I got traded a couple times before ending up here.”
“Wow. That sounds like a lot.” So he’s not a rookie, after all.
Tilting his head to one side, he shrugs. “It’s part of the gig. You get used to it.”
I shake my head. “You and my sister. Both rolling stones.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, sounding intrigued. “What does she do?”
I scrunch my nose, debating how much information to give this guy that I don’t really know. “She’s a musician.” That’s the innocuous version of an answer I usually give when I don’t want to deal with people’s disbelief or astonishment.
“Really? And she’s making a living at it? That’s awesome. My mom teaches piano. When I was growing up, it was for extra money to help fund my hockey expenses. Plus she was a realtor. She’s retired from real estate these days, but still teaches some because she enjoys it. Since you say your sister’s a rolling stone, I’m assuming she travels a lot, like on tour or something?”
Sucking in a breath, I consider how much more to reveal. This guy’s a professional athlete, though. Surely if anyone can handle the truth, he can. “Yeah. She tours a lot. She’s married to Jonathan Brasher. She plays with him most of the time, but she also contributes to other artists’ work like Charlotte James, andshe did a collaboration with the band Cataclysm a couple years ago.”
When I chance a glance his way, his eyes are wide. “No shit?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “No shit.”
“Good for her. That’s awesome.” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Wait, wait, wait. Jonathan Brasher. I know he’s doing the solo career thing now, but he’s the guy who was in a band with his brothers ages ago, right? Brash? Yeah, that’s him. Ohhhh.” He does this big dramatic realization where he presses his head against the seat back, his palm against his forehead, and his antics make me giggle. He’s not hamming it up, either. At least I don’t think so. It’s not a big production, he’s just like this. “That’swhy you were wearing that shirt.”
My cheeks feel like they might burst from working to contain my laughter. “What shirt?”
“The one you had on when you moved in. I thought it was weird for a classy lady like you to be wearing boy band merch.”
That makes my laughter burst through the flimsy dam holding it back. “Classy, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.” He’s not laughing at all. “Have you seen yourself? Looked in a mirror? Happened upon a photo? You’re very classy.”
I can’t help but shake my head again. “If you say so.”
“Puh-lease.” There he goes with the dramatics again. “You can’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about with your perfectly manicured nails and groomed eyebrows and shiny hair.”
A sliver of unease threads its way into my bloodstream. “So? I like to look good. What’s the big deal?”
