Finn (Breakaway Hockey #4)

Chapter Twelve

Finn

F irst, the bad news…

With six minutes and ten seconds left in the third period, and our team up by only a goal, I’m digging in the corner for the puck with one of the Predators’ nastier players.

I win the battle and start to skate away with the puck, but the rotten fucker I’ve been tussling with tries to stop me by reaching out with his stick and hooking my ass.

But it’s not my ass, or my leg, that he hooks. No, the blade reaches up to my fucking face and under my visor, resulting in a slice to my cheek that starts pouring blood.

I think it probably looks worse than it is, as it doesn’t hurt all that much, but I still have to leave the ice with our trainer with a towel pressed to my face.

Now the good news…

Despite the bleeding, just as I suspected, the cut is not all that deep. I don’t even need real stitches. In the back, the trainer seals up the wound with a liquid-stitches ointment.

I’m amped to get back in the game, but it’s too late.

An assistant steps into the room and tells us that we just won.

That’s great, and the cool part is that we scored another goal on a power play after that asshole who cut me got kicked out of the game. But I’m bummed that I can’t get back in and score one myself.

The trainer assures me that I’ll be good to go for the next game, so that makes me feel a little better. I am fortunate, too, that I now have the opportunity to hit the showers before my teammates do, seeing as I have a date tonight with Sammie.

Er, I mean a dinner.

Yeah, not a date , I remind myself.

Once I’m cleaned up, and with my hair still slightly damp, I tug on black dress pants, black socks, a nice pair of shoes, and an olive-green button-down shirt that I roll up the sleeves on.

Finally, the best news…

When I walk into the lounge down the hall from the locker room, not only is Sammie in there waiting for me, which is cool on its own since I had this fear that she’d blow me off, but she rushes over to me and places her hands on either side of my face.

I love that she’s touching me. I don’t even feel the lingering sting in my cheek. I just feel her .

“Oh my God,” she says, sounding equal parts worried and relieved, if that’s even possible.

She shakes her head slowly as she assesses my injury. “I saw that stick come up and hit you in the face. I thought the worst had happened. But this doesn’t look too bad. Are you all right, though? I see there’s a little swelling, and—” She squints as she continues to examine me. “—it looks like they sealed the cut up with something.”

I’m glad no one else is in the lounge at the moment, because I’m able to enjoy her touching me and revel in her concern.

I mean, fuck, she clearly cares.

I let her hands remain where they are as I tell her, “I’m fine. It looked worse than it was. I didn’t even need real stitches, just liquid ones.”

Biting her bottom lip, her eyes meeting mine, she asks softly, “Does it hurt?”

I shake my head, then instantly regret doing so, because she drops her hands to her sides, like my movement alerted her to the fact that she was still touching me.

Crossing her arms, she asks, “Do you still feel like going to dinner? If not, I understand. We can always go another—”

I stop her by touching her elbow, cursing the leather jacket she has on, even though it is cute as hell, as is her whole outfit.

Still, I wish I could feel her skin.

Chuckling, I say, “Hey, slow down. Like I said, I’m fine. I’m actually looking forward to dinner. In fact, I’m fucking starving right now.”

That makes her smile. “Good. I’m hungry too. I skipped lunch.”

“Perfect.” Moving my hand from her elbow to the small of her back and leading her to the exit, I say, “Let’s get out of here.”

Once we’re in my Escalade, I tell Sammie about an intimate Italian restaurant that I love. It’s a little north of Atlanta, and I know the owners there. I explain that not only will they treat us well, but we won’t run into a bunch of my teammates.

Sighing, I add, “We probably will if we stay here in the arena district.”

She’s fine with my suggestion, as I know she doesn’t want people I know to see us and ask questions.

Good, I want her all to myself anyway.

As we drive out of the parking garage, she shares, “I love, love, love Italian food. I can’t wait.”

I assure her, “This place has the best food. Everything is homemade.”

“Mmmm,” she murmurs. “Sounds fantastic, Finn.”

Since it’s kind of late, traffic is light on the highway and we reach the restaurant in what feels like no time.

After parking in a space right out front, I jump out of the Escalade and try to get over to the passenger side in time to open the door for Sammie.

But she beats me to it.

We’re just friends anyway, I remind myself.

Even so, I do make sure I open the door to the restaurant for her. Some things are just nonnegotiable. I’m still that kind of a guy—courteous.

The owners, an older married Italian couple named Lydia and Virgil, are at the hostess stand. As soon as they see me, their eyes light up.

They start asking me all about the game, and Lydia, gesturing to the cut on my cheek, inquires if I’m all right.

“I’m fine,” I assure her with a warm smile.

“Good.”

I’m about to introduce Sammie to her and Virgil, but she turns her attention to Sammie before I have a chance.

Smiling kindly, she asks, “And who is this pretty lady?”

Sammie, blushing, which is fucking adorable, replies, “I’m Sammie. I’m Finn’s friend.”

Eyeing us both like she knows more than we do, Lydia chuckles. “Friends, huh? Come on now. Are you sure? You two would make such a beautiful couple!”

She means no harm, but I think I’m blushing now too. My cheeks sure feel hot.

Sammie and I are quiet, and Virgil admonishes, “Now, Lydia, leave these two young people alone. I’m going to take them to their table so they can eat and enjoy the night without you trying to play matchmaker.”

“Oh, Virgil,” she clucks, waving him off dismissively.

Sammie and I just smile at each other as Virgil steers us away to a private booth in the back of the restaurant.

As he hands us each a menu, he says, “I apologize for my wife. She’s a hopeless romantic.” Looking off into the distance, he muses, “That’s actually why I fell in love with her.”

I assure him there’s nothing to apologize for, since there isn’t, and Sammie chimes in and agrees.

Smiling, he then tells us that a server will be over soon and for us to enjoy our dinners.

We thank him, and, as he walks away, Sammie says softly, “Those two are so cute.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, they really are. That’s one reason why I love it here. Well, that and the food is beyond amazing. You’ll see.”

“I can’t wait to try it,” she says, opening her menu.

We spend a few minutes perusing the selections, even though I know pretty much what I want—one of my usual go-to meals.

Sammie, though, needs time to decide what she’d like.

Once we lower our menus, our server, a young man of about twenty, arrives.

I ask Sammie, “Are you ready? Do you know what you want?”

She nods. “I do. But you go first.”

I think she wants to have me order before her to further emphasize that this is not a date.

Whatever.

I turn to the server and say, “I’ll have the sixteen-ounce dry rub rib eye and a side of angel hair with marinara.”

“Wow,” Sammie interjects. “That’s a lot of food.”

“I told you I’m hungry,” I say, laughing.

“You weren’t kidding.”

Sammie orders next, opting for the homemade lasagna. I tell her I’ve had that before and it’s delicious.

Our server informs us that both entrées come with house salads and garlic bread.

We both choose a champagne vinaigrette dressing, and then our waiter leaves to put our orders in.

Since it’s late and not too busy, service is quick. Sammie and I only have to wait a few short minutes before our salads arrive.

That’s okay, seeing as we’re both famished and pretty much devour that first course in record speed.

I believe it that Sammie skipped lunch. But it’s all good. I like a girl who’s not afraid to eat on a date.

But wait, this isn’t a date.

In any case, I’m glad she feels like she can be herself.

I think Sammie has been too. Conversation is flowing freely, and I’ve noticed that she’s more of the relaxed, laid-back girl I’ve always known her to be.

That is, prior to our night of abandon.

I’ve also noticed there’s no sadness in her pretty emerald eyes tonight. She is bubbly and carefree.

Hell, I believe this friends-only thing may actually work. Even if I do have the occasional flashback of her body under mine, or me on top of her, or the way her heart-shaped ass looked when I entered her from behind—

Okay, enough.

Shaking my head to dispel my lusty, wayward thoughts, I focus on our entrées that just arrived.

Sammie is already digging into hers.

Good, she didn’t notice me zoning out.

As we eat and polish off our main courses, which we both agree are beyond delicious, we come to the conclusion that we’re far too full for dessert.

“But I will have some coffee,” Sammie informs our server when he stops by to see what we’d like next.

“I’ll have some too,” I say.

“Perfect.” He spins around. “I’ll be right back.”

Returning a moment later with a coffee urn, he places two cups on the table.

As he fills Sammie’s first, he asks her, “Would you like cream and sugar?”

“No, neither, thanks,” she replies. “Black is fine.”

He pours my coffee next, and I tell him, “No cream or sugar for me either.”

When he leaves, Sammie, holding her cup with both hands to warm them up, says, “Ahh, so you’re a fellow black coffee drinker.”

“I am,” I confirm as I raise my cup and take a sip. “Ah, shit.” I wince as I feel a random sharp pain in my cheek.

I had almost forgotten about my injury.

Sammie grimaces. “Ugh, is it starting to hurt now?”

“Just a little,” I reply, setting my cup down on the table.

“Well, it is getting late,” she says. “We should get going soon.”

“Yeah.” I sigh because she’s not wrong. “I think you’re right. Just let me get the check.”

After I signal for the waiter, Sammie and I have a brief discussion about splitting the bill. I want to pay for the whole thing, but she’s adamant about pitching in with her fair share.

I suggest a compromise. “How about we take turns paying when we go out and do stuff?”

Sammie thinks it over, then nods. “Sounds like a plan. I can live with that.”

“Good.” I pick up the check that just arrived. “Then I’ll take care of this one tonight.”

“Okay.”

I pay, and we leave the restaurant.

Sammie gives me directions to her townhouse, which turns out to be one of the nicest, most spacious units in the entire complex.

Huh. I wonder how, even though she works two jobs, she has the money for such a fancy place.

I’m not about to ask her about it, though.

We’re not that good of friends…yet.

Before she gets out of my vehicle, and as she’s gathering her purse from the floor, she surprises the shit out of me when she casually asks, “Oh, hey, would you want to do something Monday evening? I have off, and I know there’s not a game that night.”

Whoa, wow.

Do I want to do something with her on Monday?

Hell, yes!

I’m pretty excited, but I try to appear nonchalant as I say, “Yeah. Monday works for me.”

“Great. I have an idea of what we can do. It’s something I’ve been dying to try, and I think it’d be a blast.”

“All right,” I say tentatively. “What is it?”

Looking over at me with a sly smile, she says, “Axe throwing.”

“Ha!” I bark out a laugh. “You do remember that I’m from Alaska, right? I’ve chopped a lot of wood in my day, so I’m pretty good with an axe.”

“Perfect, then you should kick ass.” She pauses and peers over at me, her pretty green eyes sparkling in the low light. “So, you’re definitely up for it?”

I nod. “Absolutely, I am.”

She pops open the passenger door. “Cool. I’ll get more info, so we can figure out the logistics. I’ll send you a text with the specifics once I look everything up.”

“Sounds good,” I reply.

“See ya, Finn.”

“Bye, Sammie.”

She slips out of the car and starts to close the door, but then she hesitates.

Popping her head back in, she says, “Hey, I just want to say I had a really good time tonight.”

I smile and tell her, “I did too.”

It’s true.

I had a fan-fucking-tastic time with my new friend.