Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2) (22 page)

And then he was gone, back to the rest of the party. Leaving her with Max. And she was nervous.

Max

He’d come down from the video game tournament in search of a snack, something to soak up some of the beer he’d drunk. He’d seen the food set up in the kitchen so he grabbed a plate.

Except as he was making his way over to the table they’d filled with food, he overheard the beginning of the conversation between Kayleigh and Chris. He tried to stay quiet as he grabbed a napkin.

“Rook?”

He had no choice but to put the plate and the napkin down, and follow his captain’s instructions. He needed to take Kayleigh home and hide how it affected him. So he gave a basic answer, without feeling…

Elle etait nerveuse.

It was obvious and clear as anything he’d ever felt. Not surprising; he was nervous, too. Her brother had asked him to play the knight in shining armor, so he had to be chivalrous. Careful.

She bit her lip.

Tabernac.

He took a breath. “So,” he said once her brother had gone back to the party. “I…I’m taking you home.”

She grinned, and his heart jumped. But he was a knight, not a horny teenager. “Yeah.”

She looked down, and there was a calmness radiating from her. “So…”

He put his coat on, made sure he had his MetroCard, his wallet, and his keys, and walked through the door. She followed him, clutching her bag between her arm and the puffy jacket she wore.

A smile. He took a breath, and took her free hand.

“You sure?” she asked. “I mean…”

He nodded; he got to spend extra time with her, even though he was trying to keep her safe.

Her squeeze of his hand broke his concentration, but regardless, they headed out onto the streets of Brooklyn. It was a beautiful winter night, and he let the silence envelop them as he tried to figure out which subway to go to. They were between two stations, and he wondered which would work better.

It felt good, comfortable…

And then concern, ice, just before he felt her hand slipping away.

“It’s fine,” she said, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Anyway.”

It was not fine. Not fine at all. She was upset. And he didn’t need
percée
to understand that. Didn’t need to feel the hurt radiating off her to miss the tightness of her shoulders, the sudden speed of her walk through the streets of Brooklyn.

And then he realized what it was.

Merde.

She’d misinterpreted his attempt to be a gentleman and careful about his feelings in front of her brother as a feeling of obligation. Yes. His captain had asked him to take her home, but it wasn’t the only reason he was doing so. Then his concern about direction and safety must have looked like he didn’t care. And she didn’t have his
percée
. Which meant he had to tell her.

Which meant he had to catch up with her first. So he went after her. He followed her, fast.

“
Non
. Can…it’s not…fine,” he said as he walked alongside her. “I…
j’espere ça
…hope that this is better.” And then he put his arm around her. Waited a beat, felt her happy surprise, then drew her closer. Then he kissed her cheek. “This? Very much better.”

Kayleigh

“Yeah.”

That was what she said, the almost word that came out of her mouth as he kissed her cheek. The one that maybe possibly covered up the fact that her traitorous heart had started to slam against her chest. Damn it.

In the middle of a cold, November night, it was easier for her to remember the reasons why genuinely acting on whatever was happening between them was a bad idea. He was a hockey player, a twenty year-old rookie, and a guy she was supposed to be tutoring. Not an object for her lust. Or any other four-letter words that began with l. Despite the kiss they’d shared earlier that afternoon, and anything else that may have happened between them.

But as his fingers trailed down her cheekbones, a grin molded his lips. And her once strong resolve melted in the face of a fire that blazed all the way down to her toes.

“
Bon
.”

A sip of ice water in that simple word. “English,” she teased, grinning back at him.

He blinked, as if he’d forgotten what language he was speaking, then shook his head. “Sorry, I forgot,” he answered, a rasp in his voice, but no sign of repentance in his eyes. “Am I able to…get extra credit?”

She giggled. Couldn’t help herself. Because suddenly, halfway to the subway, she was thirteen years old, awkward and giggling at a guy with cute dimples and an even cuter accent. “You need to,” she said as she reached into her pocket. “A great deal.”

He nodded as they reached the subway entrance, and then looked back at her. But not…at her.

She turned, confused, only to see the fluorescently green taxi that was parked only two steps away from where they stood.

“Would you like to?” he asked.

It took her only a second to connect the dots in her head. “You sure?” she asked.

He grinned back at her, and dear god, that grin was going to kill her. “Would you rather take me on the subway?”

Once again she giggled, but this time, there was confusion in his eyes.

“I…am not sure what is funny,” he managed. He was hesitant, slow but questioning. “Is there a…level of that word I might miss?”

Idiot. Of course he’s not going to figure this out. He barely understands English, much less North American slang
.

“Take me,” she replied after taking a breath. “It also means…well…”

She trailed off, and once again she felt like that…well not thirteen years old. She’d aged up to eighteen. And she was entirely unable to explain, much less think about, the sexual connotation of otherwise innocent words.

But in that instant, Max’s expression went from confused to bright and gorgeous. “Your lack of words tells me all,” he said. “I think we do need that taxi, yes?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Then she took his hand, and began to jog through the streets, doing her best to lead him toward the station that gave her better access to the subway she wanted them to take. “This way?”

He stopped, laughing, throwing his head back. “This is…”

“Fun, Max,” she replied, grinning. “This is fun.”

Max

This subway ride was…easier and harder. The car was empty enough for them both to get seats, and this time he sat next to her, bumping up against her hip and thigh with his own. He focused on her, on this express train that stopped near where he needed to go. The train sped through the night, and he couldn’t breathe.

Expectation, nerves, and heat in her eyes. She looked back at him, then sighed. And kissed him.

Tabernac.

There was nobody else but her. The way she felt, the way her hands held his face, her hair in his hands, the way she felt against him, the…

She pulled back, surprise in her eyes. “Holy shit.”

He didn’t need his
percée
to understand what she’d said, even though she was speaking too fast for him to understand.

Fear. Surprise.

He reached an arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, and let her rest her head on his shoulder. “
Ouais
,” he said, forgetting what language he was speaking and not caring. “But…it doesn’t have to be a mess.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, staring up at him. “What?”

“I’m…not going anywhere,” he answered. “You don’t have to worry about that. Whatever we do, we’ll do, I promise you, I’m not walking away…unless that is what you would like.”

She shook her head. “No.” And then she blushed. “This is your stop.”

“Would you like to come up?”

“I’m exhausted.”

He let her hands go for a moment, held up his own, palms facing her. “No strings. You are tired. I…have a couch.”

“I…”

“Would you like me to take you home? Make sure you get home safely?”

She paused, stared at him again. Confusion, exhaustion, and…surrender.

“Yes. I’ll take your couch.”

As the train pulled into the station, he smiled, took her hands again, helped her up from her seat, and let her lean on him as they got off the subway.

“
Viens, bébé
,” he whispered. “Come on.”

She leaned against him, let him lead her up the stairs and along the streets. She didn’t ask how far to go, just…went.

“
Pas loin
,” he whispered. “Not far from here, OK?”

“OK.”

And quietly, as if he held the world in his hands, he took her to his apartment. Lord knew how he got her upstairs and onto the couch. A cup of tea later, he’d covered her with a blanket and left her to sleep. He wasn’t sure if he was going to sleep. But he was tired enough that he had to try.

Kayleigh

It was the swearing that woke her up. Word after word in perfect Parisian French, followed by a list of phrases that would burn the ears off of any speaker of Quebec French worth their salt. Or
sel
as the case may be. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. She didn’t recognize where she was, but the barrage of French was a dead giveaway that the couch she’d passed out was Max’s.

She reached out and rubbed her eyes, careful not to roll over…and off the couch. It was comfortable; she’d give him that. And so much else. Because she started to smell coffee.

“Is that coffee I smell?”

“One of my mother’s favorite phrases is ‘
Rien d’importance avant le café
,’” he said, his voice emanating from around the corner.

She got off the couch and headed toward the sound of his voice to find him in a baggy T-shirt and sweat pants, standing in the middle of a small, efficient galley style kitchen. “Oh,
merci a dieu
,” she said, grinning back at him. “Thank you to the coffee gods of the world.”

He laughed. “I’m not like my mother, but I like the day better after I have coffee, or espresso or…something, you know?”

She did, and she nodded as she watched him work the espresso maker, her focus briefly shifting to the two tiny cups sitting to the left.

“Are you…do you need something special for breakfast?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Lucky for me, I’m not allergic to things I eat. Which is a very good thing. I try to eat healthy most of the time, but you know, I’m not perfect.” At which point she stared at the box on the table. “What…what is that?”

He shrugged, and she could see the blush in his cheeks. “Once a week, a day I don’t have a heavy schedule, I…well,” he stared helplessly at the bag of pastry she remembered him carrying along with the macarons.

And the guilt was written all over his face. Was he expecting her to judge him for his pastry habit? Of anybody, she was probably the least likely. So she grinned back at him and shook her head. “It’s fine, I’m not judging. In fact, I’m going to partake in your Sunday breakfast indulgence.” She walked toward the table, and opened the bag. She could barely think on confronting the marvels of French chocolate and pastry that sat in front of her. “Oh, my god.”

He put down the two cups of espresso before shrugging again and gesturing broadly toward the table and the box. “
Viens
,” he said.

“Coffee and chocolate for breakfast?” she quipped. “I am not going to ask twice.” She sat down at the table, and took a swallow of her espresso. “Oh my god this is beautiful.”

“Sometimes you need it, no?”

She laughed. “Always, I think. I don’t think I’ve ever said no to a cup of caffeinated something.”

“
En vrai
?” he asked as he put napkins in front of them. “I mean…really?”

She nodded. “Caffeine’s always been a…mental thing for me. Like, it works when I want it to. So I drink a lot of it. But I like it the best in the morning.”

“Not me,” he confessed. “I like it…but it…works when I do not want it to.” He shook his head. “And chocolate? What are you feelings on that?”

“I’m not eating enough?” she ventured. “The fact that I haven’t started eating one of the gorgeous things in the bag right there is a huge testament of my strength of will.”

“Which,” he said, “is entirely not necessary. So…go ahead and take something.”

She grinned back at him. “If that’s the case, than I will.” And without waiting, she reached into the bag and pulled out the most gorgeous pastry she’d ever seen. Chocolate dust came off on her fingertips, and the flaky pastry crunched under her touch, it was so soft. If the rest of the pastries in that bag were like this one? She was going to die a happy woman.

Max

She was adorable. Covering her face with chocolate at his breakfast table. Drinking the espresso that he’d managed to make despite the machine’s best intentions. And,
mon dieu
, she was comfortable. She was relaxed.

“Do you have…plans?”

She sighed, sat back in her chair, and he watched her pull back. Just a little. “I have to go soon, actually.” A small sigh as she stared at the clock. “Laundry and a few other things before rehearsal tonight. You?”

“It’s an off day, so I’m helping at the shop before heading to skate a little.”

She nodded, sighed. “So…”

But she made no move to leave, which pleased him greatly. Except he knew this idyll with her wouldn’t last. Because within five minutes, his grandfather, or some other member of his family, would call. Or Alain would be knocking on his door, wondering why he hadn’t come down to help him with the shop.

“So,” he added, his contribution to the conversation as intelligent as he’d expect.

But she didn’t seem to have words either, which didn’t make him feel better. Instead, they sat in silence fueled by the understanding that their time would be over soon.

Kayleigh

It took her longer than usual to get herself together and leave despite the fact that she didn’t have very much to organize. Just herself, her coat, her purse, and the door. That was it. Yet it was damn difficult.

She could see he knew it too. It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t trying to make her stay; he knew she needed to go. He needed to go too. And yet…