Breaking the Ice

Chapter 6

6

Day three at Birdie’s and Samantha was on a high. Work was… fun. Now, there was a concept. She got to indulge her favorite past time – reading – as well as chatting with the regulars she’d met at Birdie’s over the last five years.

And, bonus – her eggs had quit whining.

But the best thing was the way her relationship with Nick was developing. They’d gone from being friendly to, well… friend s . In the past, during their fleeting encounters, it had been too easy to be dazzled by him but now they worked together, she got to see that under all the hockey fame and celebrity, he was just an ordinary guy.

She’d never had a male friend before. Men were either acquaintances, colleagues or lovers – there’d been no in-between. So it was a novelty she was enjoying, just talking and laughing and hanging out without all that relationship stuff getting in the way.

Sure, he flirted but she knew he was only doing it to boost her ego. And it was working, she just had to keep it in perspective and not be dazzled by it or give too much credence to those occasional breathless moments.

Or looks that seemed to go on for a little longer than was necessary.

Strictly speaking she was pretty sure Nick would have managed without her – it wasn’t like they were run off their feet. She could have probably just come in to cover the hours he was at his physio sessions but, had Birdie not died, this would have been the place she’d have been hanging out during her break from work, anyway.

She might as well be helping out.

“So tell me about the whole seventh son thing,” Samantha asked him, licking orange syrup from her fingers.

She’d introduced Nick to her orange and poppy-seed friand obsession supplied by Martha’s, an old tea house that stood on the boundary between the Glassworks and the city and was a ten-minute walk from the bookshop. They were made with fresh oranges direct from just down the road in the San Joaquin Valley and came smothered in a zesty syrup.

Nick had been a convert. Or at least he liked to watch the way she sucked her fingers after she’d devoured one, which may or may not have made her take her time with the process.

“Ahh.” Nick peered at her through half-closed eyes, trying to look all smoldering and mysterious. “Legend has it that the seventh son of a seventh son is blessed with many gifts.”

Samantha laughed. She’d always been fascinated by Nick being the seventh son of a seventh son. Frankly she’d found it much more interesting than his pro-hockey career.

“Such as?”

Dropping the mystical act, he took a sip of his latte before replying. “Healing, second sight, luck. And apparently, we are born travelers, full of adventure and wanderlust.”

Samantha propped her head on her side. “A healer? Oh goody. Does it extend to animals? Because I have this obese goldfish that needs a miracle.”

He shot her a look of mock severity as her laughter tinkled around him. “I see you are skeptical.” Nick half-shuttered his eyes again. “I may have to punish you for your lack of respect for my powers and your superiors.”

The tempo of Samantha’s heart picked up as sinful thoughts of her punishment worked their way into her head. And into his, too, if the way he was staring at her was any indication. Her breath roughened in the growing silence. Or maybe that was his?

Thankfully, Nick broke the intensity first. “Nah.” He gave a half laugh with a very definite husky edge to it. “I think the whole spiritual healer stuff is crap, but I did get the wanderlust. I got a huge dose of that and I’m lucky that hockey’s helped me fulfill that part.”

“Birdie always showed me your postcards.” Cards from Nick and whatever city he was playing in arrived regularly. Even if he’d played there before he’d made an effort to get a different card and not double up. “It was sweet of you to send them.”

In the era of electronic communication – email, texts, insta-messaging – buying a postcard and a stamp and posting it was terribly old-fashioned, but Birdie had been thrilled.

He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m a sweet guy.”

Samantha snorted. He might do sweet things but there was nothing sweet about Nick Hawke. In faded jeans and a black T-shirt, the man had spicy written all over him.

“I guess it’s easy to indulge your wanderlust,” she said, veering the conversation back on track, “when you have million-dollar contracts stuffed in your back pocket.”

“Definitely.” He nodded. “But had hockey not come calling I would still have left home at eighteen with my trusty backpack and gone exploring.”

Samantha shuddered. The mere thought gave her palpitations.

Ever since high school, when her mother had finally told her bookie father they weren’t moving again, she’d had her life planned out. Her dad had dragged them from one town to the next, one racetrack to the next, and although she had him to thank for her lightning-quick ability at mental arithmetic, she had never been comfortable with the nomadic existence.

Bec the extrovert had thrived. She, on the other hand, had lived at the library, written lists and planned her very stable future. Stay put, work hard and get to the top had been her mantra and she hadn’t stopped or deviated in any way.

“And when my hockey career is done, I’ll keep exploring. Maybe not so much with a backpack anymore though,” he said with a grin as he massaged his knee.

“How bad is it?” she asked. “Your knee.”

Nick sobered. “It’s my second ACL and I did a pretty good job of it.”

“Will it be okay for the start of the hockey season?”

He shook his head. “Probably not, camp is just over three months away now. But I should be far enough along in my recovery to do some modified training alongside the guys.”

It wasn’t news to Samantha that Nick, like her, was only here temporarily but it bothered her. And the fact that it bothered her, bothered her even more so. “You sure you’re going to be ready after four months of lattes and orange friands?”

Nick patted his stomach. “I have a pretty good metabolism.”

Samantha’s gaze dropped to his hand. Oh yes, he did. The man had a pretty damn good everything.

“I can’t believe I employ you to sit on that couch and read all day,” Nick griped good-naturedly at Sam the next day as he fixed himself another coffee. He’d lost count of how many he’d consumed today. Which would kill him first, he wondered. His ten-year addiction to caffeine or his much newer one to Samantha?

She was wearing the standard uniform of jeans and a black T-shirt adorned with a magnetic nametag stating her name was Sam . But it was the way she wore them. Her V-necked tee clung in all the right places and her jeans also managed to cling and emphasize those curves that were now appearing regularly in his head. She had her legs tucked underneath her and her head cocked to one side as she absently twirled a piece of hair around a finger. The fact she was leaving it loose now was exceptionally distracting.

She was on her third Larry and Stretch for the day and didn’t even look up when she said, “It’s a perk of the job.”

He laughed and took a swig of his latte. Yep. Sam had fit right in. Looking at her all snuggled in among the cushions, it was like she’d come with the furniture. And the customers loved her. The men particularly.

Not that there were many of them or that she ever noticed anyway.

He already knew that her body image was completely screwed from decades of perfect air-brushed bodies on screens and in magazines but whenever she looked genuinely confused at a compliment or gave a dismissive snort at his teasing morning wolf whistle, he wanted to burn the world down.

Although maybe it was her total cluelessness that made her even more attractive.

“Admit it,” he said, watching her as her fingers continued their curling motion. “You’re hooked and Marshall Grover is brilliant. You like them.”

She peered over the book at him. “Of course I do, Nick. What’s not to like? They’re romance novels for men.”

Nick spluttered a mouth full of coffee back into his cup. “I’m sure he’d love to hear you say that about his books.”

“It’s true.” She smiled at him like she hadn’t just uttered complete sacrilege. “And you would know that if you ever bothered to keep your end of the bargain.”

“No, no, no.” Nick shook his head and carried his coffee cup over to her, plonking himself at the other end of the lounge. “This” – he whipped it off her – “is action.”

“Sure.” Samantha nodded. “With a romantic subplot and a happily ever after.” She grabbed the book back as she looked at him pointedly. “Romance.”

“But there are posses and horses and villains and prostitutes.”

“And a beautiful woman.”

“And deserts and rattle snakes and train robberies.”

“Who falls for the hero.”

“Sheriffs. Saloons. Gambling.”

“And the hero falls for her.”

Nick looked at her looking at him patiently, waiting for him to get it. “Oh, crap.” He blinked. “I think you’re right.” She raised an eyebrow, her mouth also quirking in a most distracting manner. “I’m going to reserve final judgment until I can get a fair comparison.”

She grinned at him and unfolded her legs and he watched as she swayed over to a bookshelf. Her jeans clung everywhere and her top rode up just a little to reveal the curve of her waist as she reached up high. She turned and gently lobbed a book at him.

“ The Pirate and the Princess . One of her best.”

Nick caught it easily. “Okay, okay. I give in. I’ll start tomorrow.”

“No time like the present.”

He gestured to the clock. “It’s closing time.”

“Oh, damn…”

She arched her back as she reached into her back jeans pocket for her phone which thrust her breasts out and caused a little hiccup in his pulse. Her face lit a little as the screen illuminated and she stared at it as if willing the numbers to be different.

“Problem?”

“Oh… no… not really.” She returned her phone to her back pocket, her chest thrusting again. “There’s just something I have to do, well, not have to… want to… at least I did…”

“ Oookay . Not making much sense there, Sam.”

He liked the shortened version of her name. It suited her in that sassy, unisex way. Although God knew there was nothing unisex about her. She was all woman.

“I’m getting a tattoo.”

Nick blinked. “ You? You’re getting a tattoo?”

It had only taken a full day in her company to work out Samantha was very straight . Great but straight. In a few days the shop was littered with yellow Post-it notes boasting neatly written reminders and lists and the enjoyment she got from crossing a line through every item on a list and then tossing it in the trash didn’t exactly speak to an impulsive nature.

A pity really because he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time in Tetworth than messing up Samantha’s tidy, Post-it-note world.

“Yes,” she said, clearly annoyed. “You got a problem with that?”

Nick held his hands up in surrender. “Absolutely not. I just didn’t take you as the type. You seem a little… conservative for a tat.”

Obviously the wrong – or possibly the right – thing to say, as her spine literally straightened before his eyes. “Not anymore.”

Okay, that was conviction and yet… “So, why do you look so scared?”

She sighed as she deflated a little, her bottom teeth worrying her lip. “Needle phobia.”

“Ah.” The fact she was even considering a tattoo with that background spoke even more to her level of conviction. “Want me to come and hold your hand?”

“Would you?” Her face lit up like New Year’s Eve as he nodded and she did that delightful little clapping thing again. “Oh Nick, thank you.” Then, as if she’d been suddenly beset with excess energy, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before dashing to get her bag.

Nick stood for a moment and forgot to breathe. He shut his eyes and waited for the roar of a hockey crowd to fill his head and envelop him in the usual gut-clenching thrill. The way it always did whenever he closed his eyes.

It was strangely absent.

Great. It chose now to desert him? Now with straight Samantha going crooked? Straight he could handle. They laughed and bantered and ate orange and poppy-seed friands. They were friends. But crooked Samantha?

Samantha going off the rails and getting a tattoo was an entirely different prospect.