Page 22 of The Pucker and the Princess
Strictly friends
Awesome. There’s a cool little spot close to the arena that we like to go to. People don’t hassle us there. The owner’s cool and keeps a back booth reserved for players any night of the week. I can drive.
Sounds perfect. Let me know when you’re ready to go.
And just like that, my spirits lift. I can’t even remember the last time I went out for a drink with a friend. It’ll be interesting being out with someone who has to worry about things like being hassled in public.
Looking down at myself, I decide I need to change out of my loungewear and head to my closet to pick out an outfit that’s classy enough to be seen in public with a professional hockey player but doesn’t scream date.
I settle on a purple silk top paired with jeans and sneakers with my leather blazer over the top. It’s a nice combo of dressy casual, in my opinion.
I’m just settling the jacket on my shoulders when my phone dings with another text from Dozer.
Heading to my car. See you there
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dozer
Before her invite,I was still pretty convinced that Marissa didn’t really like me. Saw me as an object of pity? Sure. Otherwise, I’m not sure what else could’ve motivated her to help me out with my car like she did.
And maybe it’d be safer for me if I just let her go on pitying me without insisting on paying her back. But my own sense of honor won’t let that kind of debt go unpaid. It’s not like she did something small and frivolous that could easily be swept aside. She took hours out of her life to take me shopping and then showed me how to replace my own battery.
There’s no way I’ll still remember what to do whenever I might need that knowledge again, of course, but that’s not the point at all.
The point is, she helped me out of a jam. I owe her, hence the tickets. And that’s apparently set us on the road to some kind of friendship.
Based on what she said, I’m guessing I’m the only non-coworker she knows here. And since she’s in charge of her office, I can see how it might be difficult to strike up a friendship with other people at work when you’re the boss.
Even though it’s a friendly hangout at a bar, I still change into a pair of dark wash jeans and a gunmetal gray button-down shirt that I leave untucked and cuffed at the elbows. I slip on my favorite pair of black leather loafers, and I’m good to go. I shoot her a text to let her know I’m heading to my car.
I’m not sure if she just lounges around all dolled up or what, but I don’t have to wait long for her to appear, and when she does, she looks stunning.
She’s not in her usual workwear that makes her look stiletto sharp and forbidding. Jeans and a leather jacket make her look almost approachable.Almost.
If I didn’t know she’s actually funny and down to earth, I’d still think she’s a prissy princess in this outfit with her immaculate makeup and hair and her almost casual outfit. Sure, she’s wearing jeans, but there’s nothing casual about the way she carries herself.
She’s a ballbuster. A go-getter. It’s no surprise she rose through the ranks at her job. She’s the take no prisoners type without a doubt.
A wide smile stretches across her face as she approaches me, and I almost glance behind me to make sure there’s not someone else she might be smiling at. I manage to return her smile like a normal person, though, instead of acting like a dumbass.
“Thanks for coming out with me,” she says as she stops in front of me. “I felt too cooped up, but the thought of going out alone also sounded terrible.”
“My pleasure.” I step to the passenger door and pull it open for her. “M’lady,” I say with a little bow.
She laughs, which was the goal and makes me smile like an idiot, and climbs into the cab. “Thank you, good sir,” she replies in a fake quasi-British accent.
Chuckling, I close the door and walk around to the driver’s side. When I climb in, she’s buckled and examining the interior. Good thing I got it detailed recently. I try to keep my car fairly clean, but sometimes wrappers and random papers end up circulating on the passenger side.
“She’s running good for you with the new battery?” she asks as I buckle myself in.
“Good as new.” My truck starts immediately when I turn the key in the ignition, no hint of spluttering. “I know it’s not as fancy as your car,” I start, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“Please. I don’t need any justification for a modest car. Before I got my current car a couple years ago, I drove the old Subaru my parents got me when I turned sixteen. It still worked. I did all the maintenance. It was paid for. There was no reason to upgrade, in my opinion.”
I glance at her as I get us on the road to the Salty Salmon, where I know we won’t be bothered by random fans. “What made you finally get a new car?”
She makes a face. “When the amount of work and money needed to keep that car going became too much.” She sighs heavily.“Plus, I was getting pressure at work to upgrade my car.” When I glance at her again, she’s giving me a meaningful look. “I represent the company, after all. And an older car isn’t the image they want their representatives to give off. The only reason they didn’t give me much grief before was because my track record spoke for itself. None of my clients had any complaints—about me or my car—but when the head of the office here announced he’d be retiring, it became more important to follow their guidelines if I wanted to get the promotion.”
