Page 9 of The Pucker and the Princess
His hesitant question is more endearing than it has any right to be. I should dislike this guy on principle, after all. He’s a dick.
But is he really? Maybe he was serious about not letting anyone in because of security concerns. Part of the reason I chose thisbuilding was the better security. And since he’s apparently a hockey player …
Maybe he’s had issues with deranged fans trying to get access to his condo?
And maybe I need to stop justifying other people’s bad behavior.
That was my problem with my ex. I kept bending over backwards to justify his unwillingness to commit. To care about what I wanted. Or let me go if he didn’t want the same things.
Instead, he kept giving me just enough hope to twist myself into knots and stick around on the thin premise that maybe this time he’d actually be ready once we got to the next milestone. And I didn’t recognize the constantly moving goalposts for what they were until my little sister had someone showing up for her the way I always wished Peter would show up for me.
It’s an old habit that just won’t quit, even though it’s been years since I broke up with him. I swore off men for a while, deciding that being on my own was the best choice. I needed time to get over my disappointment, and it took Peter a long time to finally accept the reality that I had no intention of getting back together with him.
I’ve dated some since then, but never anything serious. I’m unwilling to put my life and my dreams on hold for someone else ever again. Or hope that someone else will give me the life I’ve dreamed of. Instead, I’m making the life I want for myself.
And in order to do that, I don’t make excuses for people. Not anymore. Instead, I let them show me who they are. And I believe them.
“No, it’s fine,” I assure him. I’m just helping a neighbor, after all. “It only takes like five minutes to test a battery. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Okay. Well, let me know when you have time. I’m pretty free tonight and tomorrow.”
After checking the time and looking down at what I’m wearing—leggings, an oversized T-shirt, and the long gray cardigan I tend to wear at home—I shrug. “I can meet you in the parking garage in ten minutes. I remember where your spot is.”
“Really? Okay. Awesome. See you there.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Dozer
My heart ratepicks up as I end the call, the same anticipation thrumming through me that I feel before I take the ice every game.
That’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.
I stare at the phone in my hand. I could call her back. Tell her never mind. Figure it out myself. Didn’t she say something about taking it to an auto parts store to get the battery tested?
But the reality is, there’s no telling if my truck will even start again to do that. And if I call back and cancel seconds after she offered to help me, she’d never speak to me again.
Which would be a good thing. Remember?
I need a working vehicle, though.
Sighing, I stand and shove my feet into shoes, pulling a zip up hoodie on over my bare chest. I’m not trying to impress anyone, after all.
Though if she gets a peek at my chest, I can’t say I’d be sad about that, the horny voice in my head whispers.
Dammit. I really shouldn’t spend any more time with this woman. I’m a grown man. A professional hockey player. I should be able to figure out how to get my car fixed. I can call a tow truck and have it taken to a garage, and they can figure out what needs to be done.
“Or you can stop being a jackass,” I mutter to myself as I grab my keys and head for the door, “and let your pretty neighbor test your battery for you. For free.”
Turns out she might not be the princess I pegged her as, manicure and makeup notwithstanding. She has a garage? Tools? A battery tester?
Whoisthis woman?
I know the basics, of course. Like any sane person with internet access, I googled her as soon as I had a minute, finding her listing on the corporate website for the company that matches the name on her business card. Her headshot is pretty, in that professional corporate way, showing none of her sass and fire.
Of course, she works for an auto parts distributor in the sales department. So I guess it makes a certain amount of sense that she’d know about cars. But even if I knew about her job first, the fact she has tools and an off-site garage would still be surprising.
Unsurprisingly, I’m the first one to my parking spot, and I run a hand along the side of the bed affectionately, giving it a pat as I admire the sparkle in the dark teal paint job. I’ve always liked the color. So many cars are nondescript white or some variation of gray. Black. Red, for those who want some kind of pop ofcolor. Not that teal is way out there, or at least this shade isn’t. But it’s more interesting than gray, that’s for sure.
