Page 8 of Ice Ice Maybe
Zena set her burrito down. “That is mighty presumptuous of you to think that I would ever want to sleep with you. Do you think I am that desperate for a man?” She shook her head at me with a snort.
I shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking that, but hey, you’re the one who said it was okay to kiss you. Better to clarify things before you get any other ideas.”
Zena huffed. “Youare the one who asked if it was okay to kissme!”
“I simply presented a hypothetical situation, and you told me to go for it,” I corrected. “And in case you failed chemistry and anatomy, one private kiss is all it takes to send our lives in a completely different direction! The next thing you know, we’re married, you’re pregnant with twins, and I’m picking out new hardwood flooring for a three-bedroom fixer-upper in North Park.”
She smirked. “Wow—you have a wild imagination. First, you need to donate your brain to science after you die. Second, that house would be by the beach, so ourthreekids could play in the sand whenever they wanted. And third, my dad would kill you before we ever had a chance to walk down the aisle.”
I nodded. “Good point—we’ll need to elope. See? All cleared up with a simple conversation.”
“You’re forgetting that this is an arrangement I had meticulously planned with my dad to get him a Stanley Cup,” Zena added. “It was always intended for us to put on a show for Mitch Redding and the outside world while maintaining our personal boundaries in private. I thought that was obvious.”
“You said no rules and I don’t want to assume anything. Every detail needs to be spelled out,” I said. “I mean, I thought it was obvious that the food in front of me wasmyfood, but look what happened there, Miss Burrito Burglar.”
Zena laughed. “Me? You ripped your teeth into my burrito like a savage and almost ate half of it in one bite, Mr. Mexican Munchie Mangler!”
I wagged a finger at her, trying to keep a straight face. “Don’t mess with my food. Ever.”
“Lesson learned,” she said. “Are there any other concerns you wish to address? Now’s the time to bring them up.”
I took another sip of horchata, eyeing Zena over the rim of my cup. “You know everything about me, but I know almost nothing about you since I don’t have the luxury of a private detective.”
Zena smirked. “Twoprivate investigators, plus Google. And you can ask me anything you’d like.”
I shrugged. “Okay, how angry was your dad when you decided to attend the University of San Diego?”
She sat back in the booth, blinking several times. “Out of all the things you could have asked me, that’s your burning question? Really?”
“Believe me, I have many more, but I would like to start there because the answer will tell me volumes about you and Daddy Dalton,” I said. “You said I could ask you anything.”
Zena nodded and smiled playfully. “Well, you’re not wrong about him being upset. He went from zero to nuclear faster than you can say Ivy League. How did you know that?”
I shrugged. “It was a hunch. The University of San Diego is one of the top one hundred universities in the country, but for someone with billions to burn, I figured it wouldn’t be good enough for him. I admire you for following your heart.”
“Thank you,” Zena said. “He wanted me to attend Harvard, with Yale as a backup. My grades were good enough for both, but I wasn’t even remotely interested. And for the record, he also does not approve of my car, the way I dress, or my hair.”
“Is he nuts?” I asked, glancing down and admiring her plum-colored summer dress. “I think you look amazing. And as for your hair …” I reached out, gently running my fingers through her long and wavy auburn locks again. “I can’t keep my hands off it.”
“Are we back to being flirty again?” Zena asked. “I have to say, your acting skills are excellent.”
I shook my head. “It’s the truth. And I have another question.”
“Go for it,” she said.
“Why me?” I asked.
She sighed. “Another question I didn’t expect. Don’t you want to know about my secret weakness, what I do in my spare time, or even my favorite color?”
“Later,” I said. “Out of all the eligible bachelors that could have been your fake boyfriend, I want to know why I was chosen. There has to be a well-calculated method to your madness.”
Zena’s grin turned sly. “We had a very scientific process. Step one: Find someone marginally attractive. Then?—”
“Marginally?” I interrupted, feigning hurt.
“Step two,” she continued, ignoring me, “proximity to the action on the ice for maximum visibility. And step three, someone kind enough that I wouldn’t want to slash him with a hockey stick after being with him for five minutes.”
I pondered this for a moment. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m the perfect combination of eye candy, strategic placement, and tolerable personality?”
